


Shattered Glass

by Liathwen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast AU, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Het, Oral Sex, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 52,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liathwen/pseuds/Liathwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sherlolly version of Beauty and the Beast - I'm crap at summaries lol</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Molly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AllTheBellsInVenice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheBellsInVenice/gifts).



> A BILLION thanks to AllTheBellsInVenice for the HEAVY edits she did for me in the beginning of this chapter as well as all the ideas.  
> A ton of thanks to Lisa too for always being there to listen to my crazy ideas, not matter the time.  
> And Miz-Joely too!! You're fantastic and thanks so much for the encouragement!

“Once upon a time, a good king and queen had two brilliant sons. These princes could solve any puzzle, but alas, their hearts were cold as ice. When war came to the kingdom, it soon fell to the elder prince to hold the line against the enemy. But before departing, he sent a fairy to watch over his brother, who was too young to ride into battle.

This young prince did no evil, but his loveless heart cared only for his puzzles. As he grew into beauty, the watching fairy began to lust after the young prince, and saw that the war went badly. She knew that if the young prince would only marry her, she could take the kingdom for herself.

The clever fairy used all her wiles on the young prince, showing him that she was not only beautiful, but just as brilliant as he. His eyes dazzled, the prince told the fairy a secret plan, known only to himself and the elder prince, to defeat the great enemy. The fairy saw her chance and told the great enemy the plan, hoping that the elder brother would die in the battle. Soon after, a messenger came with terrible news. The elder prince still lived, but the battle was lost. Thus it game to pass that the young prince saw the fairy's treachery.

When she saw the prince's anger, the fairy begged him to forgive and protect her, for a greater evil now hunted her. But he refused, and in a fury he banished her from the kingdom. In revenge, the evil fairy set a curse upon the young prince, turning him into a beast as loathsome as he had once been beautiful. She told the poor prince that she would break the curse if only he would marry her and make her queen. Still the prince refused her, and it is said that to this day he hides his ugliness all alone in the castle, where the evil fairy forever holds him captive."

Molly Hooper snapped the book shut and smiled down at the children staring up at her in rapt attention.

“Now run along or your parents will be upset with me for keeping you so long!” she laughed at their comedic disappointment and promised to read for them again very soon.

As the last of her little audience scampered away, Molly shook her head, chuckling to herself, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before reopening the book.

It was a worn volume, despite the lack of interest in literature most of the citizens of her small village displayed. Of course, most of the wear and tear had come from Molly herself. It was her favorite book offered for borrow by the tiny bookstore tucked into a corner of a dilapidated building just off the village square. She could just see it from her position seated on the stone surround of the old fountain in the middle of the square. The running of the water behind her soothed out the clamorous sounds of the villagers bustling back and forth completing their daily tasks and doing a fair bit of gossip along the way, as per the usual.

Of course, the most common subject of gossip was Molly herself, and her father. They seemed to be the go to subject when the nosy women of the town had nothing else to cluck about. Molly read too much, it gave her ideas that her father encouraged. It wasn’t right for a woman to be interested in the subjects Molly liked either. All that stuff about science and bodies and death. It just wasn’t natural.

She knew they’d seen her reading science manuals and books on the human body which was terribly abnormal for a young woman. Deep inside, she thought she was probably more knowledgeable than the pathetic excuse for a doctor who lived on the outskirts of town. She might not have the hands on experience, but she practically had the three anatomy books she had access to memorized she’d read them so many times.

It didn’t help that she was a pretty girl. She didn’t think of herself as such, when she thought of her looks at all, but she was. Her long honey colored hair was thick and shiny, hanging down to her waist when loose, but almost always wound into a plait around her head to keep it out of the way of her work. Her figure was small, petite, but strong from helping her father with the work on their small farm. Her dark brown eyes were large in her delicate face, the rest of her features small in comparison. If she had been “normal” by the village’s standards, she’d have been married off long ago. She was nearly twenty-three, old in terms of eligibility, but her father had not sought a husband for her, a fact for which she was infinitely grateful, having found no one of interest in her town.

They were all idiots. She cringed at her mean thoughts, but recognized them for the truth. They were simple, uninterested in life outside of the confines of the village, or in educating themselves. Not like the men in her books. Brilliant.

She smiled down at the pages of the book she currently held. This one was the best. A collection of fairy tales, handwritten on thick parchment pages. The ink was splotchy in places, and the writing spidery and thin, but the words filled her mind’s eye with faraway places and daring deeds. She made a point to read aloud to the village children as often as their parents would let them listen to her and she almost always chose one of the many tales chronicled in the thick book for them.

Molly looked up as a cart passed too close to her, startling the petite woman out of her reverie. She frowned, annoyed at the interruption of her contemplation of the pages spread in her lap.

Ah well, her father was due to come home soon and she needed to get back to their home just outside the village and cook for him. He’d no doubt appreciate a warm supper waiting for him when he arrived from his long trip.

She hopped up, smoothing her skirts and clutched the tome in her slim arms, pulling it tightly to her chest as she set off towards home.


	2. Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the enthusiastic response to this fic. I DO need to get this out though; this is NOT a disney fic. It's not going to be fluffy, it's not going to be cute. Well there will be pieces of it that are. The point is that this is based on the actual fairy tale and will contain some dark stuff. I just don't want to disappoint anyone who comes looking for disney. This is FAR from a cartoon.
> 
> Ok, that being said, I hope you like this if you choose to stick around.

He was lost.

Matthias Hooper had to admit it. Darkness was swiftly approaching, and he had been wandering about in the forest for hours with no idea as to where he was.

He cursed under his breath at his folly, straying from the road in search of a mythical castle, merely to satisfy his curiosity. He cursed the stranger in the pub, plying him with drink and relating the tale of the Beast and his untold wealth. If he’d been sober he might had recognized it for the folk tale that it was, one that his beloved daughter Molly had read to him in front of the fireplace of their cottage outside of town.

Instead, he’d gone in search of the castle, listening to the directions from the stranger in the expensive clothes. He had obviously been of the upper class, but had been keen on not being recognized. That much was obvious from the cloak and hood carefully arranged to keep his face hidden from all except Matthias. Why he’d bothered with the small, dank pub in the first place, Hooper couldn’t possibly imagine. Why he bothered to engage the lower class man in conversation was another mystery, along with what he could possibly hope to gain from Matthias’ imminent demise.

He shivered, looking around once more at the forest, shadows growing in the lateness of the hour. It was pleasant enough during the day, in the warm sun, but the nights were still chilly and Matthias hadn’t thought to take a warmer cloak, never dreaming he’d be so foolish as to stray.

He tripped over a branch and stumbled, falling and spilling the contents of his small pack onto the ground, mixing the trinkets he’d brought from the port to sell in his town with the dead leaves and dirt. This time, an audible curse escaped him. He scrambled to replace his possessions into his bundle, but slowed his movements when his fingers brushed against something other than the cool earth. Eyes narrowed, Matthias studied the ground and brushed lightly at it.

Hidden under the layer of fallen debris and soil was a stone pathway. His eyes widened and he looked up in the direction it went. Now that he’d noticed it, the walk was rather obvious due to the lack of trees in the path. He shouldered his pack once more and set off down the way, checking occasionally to make sure he remained on the walk.

It was fully dark by the time he reached the huge metal gate set into the high stone walls. It was rusted from the elements, but opened easily, indicating at least some use recently. As he passed through and caught sight of the castle, Matthias caught his breath.

The building was a huge one, made of grey stone. The glow from the moon bathed the whole place in an eerie half-light with shadows creeping across the grass like fingers reaching for him. He shuddered, focusing on the castle and breathed a relieved sigh when he spotted the glow of candlelight within. He crossed the massive lawn quickly, weaving around the cultivated areas, unable to discern exactly what was growing there in the dimness of night.

Upon reaching the door, Matthias paused before knocking, memories of the warnings from the stranger flitting through his mind.

_The Beast does not suffer fools, do not anger him._

Hooper shook his head vigorously, reminding himself it was just a tale and he’d most likely find a very normal, very human person behind the massive oaken door. Drawing up his courage, he rapped on it, cringing as the sound echoed in the stillness around him.

The door opened, creaking ominously on its unoiled hinges and Matthias gulped. There was no sign of a person who could have opened the door, and, had it not been for the near guarantee of death, he’d had turned tail and run right then, folk tale or not.

He cleared his throat nervously and moved into the foyer of the castle, noting with some surprise that it appeared to be clean and well-kept. He breathed a small sigh of relief, surely no Beast would take such care of his abode. Matthias sniffed deeply, the enticing scent of a hot dinner hitting his nostrils. He followed it to a room just to the side of a colossal staircase which was situated at the far end of the foyer he’d entered. Pushing the wooden door open slowly, Matthias was greeted by the sight of a large dining table and chairs in the middle of a richly appointed room. The rugs were of a deep wine color and the chairs were of an ivory with gold brocade. Flames licked the edge of the elegant stone fireplace, warming the room with heat and light. At one end of the long oval table, a place was set and food steamed on plates of china, the colors matching the sophisticated chairs situated around the table top.

Matthias looked around for a moment, unsure of what to do, but after hearing nothing for some time, he cautiously approached the delicious smelling feast and looked down at it. Roast chicken, a loaf of freshly baked bread, vegetable dishes, a glass of water and another of a rich red wine; his mouth watered. He pulled back the chair and seated himself, looking around one more time before gingerly picking up a piece of the chicken and taking a bite.

He hummed in appreciation of the marvelous taste of the dish and dug into the rest of the food. It was far richer than that which he could afford and he felt a pang of guilt that he was enjoying it while his beautiful daughter was no doubt worrying herself sick over her father’s failure to arrive when he had promised.

There was nothing he could do that night though, and he knew it, so Matthias ate his fill before leaving the room and looking through several doors, searching for a bed. He finally found one, and collapsed on it, too exhausted to remove any more clothing than his boots.

As he drifted off to sleep, he could’ve sworn he heard the low rumble of a growl.

\---------------------------------

He awoke the next morning when the cheerful rays of sunshine fell across his face where he lay stretched across the bed on his back.

Matthias rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around blearily. He was in a guest room, which was lavishly furnished and clean but appeared to not have been used for an age. His brow furrowed. Whoever lived here was obviously not fond of company.

With that thought in mind, he decided it was high time to be going. He still wasn’t entirely sure where he was and he needed to get home to his Molly, who was probably going out of her mind with worry by now.

Matthias stood and pulled on his boots one at a time before shouldering his pack once more and heading out the door to the hall. He followed it to the foyer and out the massive front door, which he closed securely behind him. He started through the well-kept front lawn but paused when he looked to his right and caught a glimpse of a spectacular rose garden through a gap in the wall.

He glanced back at the iron gate with indecision before trotting over to the rose garden, slipping through the much smaller gap in the wall into a spacious area. It too was lined with stone, but not quite as high as the walls around the main castle. There were quite possibly thousands of brightly colored flowers blooming, their different colors a stark contrast to the greenery and stone paths, filling the air with an intoxicating scent.

Matthias smiled to himself. Molly would love it if he took her a few, so he pulled out his small blade and proceeded to walk through the garden, looking for the perfect ones. He cut five and was searching for the sixth when he passed close to the shadowy corner of the garden up next to the wall of the castle.

Matthias heard a loud growl and was suddenly snatched up by the scruff of the neck and turned in midair, his back slamming painfully against the rough stone of the walls. He gasped from the lack of air as it was forced from his lungs and his eyes opened wide with shock and terror. Another feral growl sounded and his only thought as he looked down was that he would have been better off spending the night in the woods.

\----------------------------------

Sherlock bared his teeth at the unwelcome intruder, a low roar issuing from his throat. The man was terrified, he could smell it.

_Good, he shouldn’t be here._

He opened his hand, taking the pressure off of the throat, letting the man catch a breath before he let go completely and dropped him to the ground.

“You are unwelcome here,” he growled out, baring his teeth again, his eyes blazing with fury. “What is your excuse for your presence?”

The man stuttered and Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Really, he wasn’t that intimidating once you really looked at him. In this form, he was maybe seven feet tall, his shoulders broad and muscular, every inch of his body covered in thick hair of a deep brown color. His eyes were amber colored with flecks of icy blue and sea green, set into an animal-esque face. His teeth were elongated, his canines almost fangs, and overall, he looked somewhat like a very large wolf or what people might envision a werewolf to look like.

So the title Beast suited him well.

“How shall I punish you for your intrusion into my solitude?” he asked dangerously, and smirked inwardly when the man began to beg and plead his innocence in the matter.

Sherlock growled again at the shaking man, his mind roving over what he could see of the man’s life from observing him.

He almost sighed with boredom. His prisoner was a simple merchant, and not even a wealthy one at that. He was widowed, that much was obvious from his cloak, which had been darned several times but not well, not to the level of a housewife. Sherlock’s eyes flitted to the roses strewn about the ground and he smiled a slow, feral grin.

_Oh yes, that will do nicely._

“Your daughter. You will give me your daughter.” Sherlock watched as the man paled and went absolutely still. He was too distraught to even ask how Sherlock knew that he had one, which was disappointing to him, considering how long it had been since he’d impressed anyone with his superior intelligence.

“No, my Lord, no please. Do what you will with me but don’t harm my child.” He was pleading for his daughter, willing to give himself up to keep her safe. Oh this would be a fantastic punishment indeed.

“The loss of your beloved daughter would hurt you far more than any physical pain I could inflict upon you,” Sherlock replied coolly, observing the man deflate and tears fill his eyes. The Beast felt a pang of remorse, but it was overshadowed by his anger at the disruption to his life.

“You will use my carriage to return to your home. The horses will know the way. Your daughter will return in the carriage no later than tomorrow evening or I will go to your home and murder you then take her anyway.”

He wasn’t sure what he would do with the young woman when he got her, but he knew that this punishment would break the man in front of him so he could ponder the conundrum later.

He knew exactly what would frighten the man even more.

Sherlock reached to the ground where the man’s blade had fallen, and picked it up. His eyes flitted around the garden until they landed on the blood red roses. Smiling evilly, he sauntered over to the bushes and cut a dozen of the blossoms from them, and returned to the trembling man, handing the bouquet to him.

“A promise for your sweet daughter.” He drawled the words, adding a hint of indecency to them. "Now go and do not disobey me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love hearing what you think!


	3. Devastated

Matthias wiped the tears from his eyes as the carriage pulled up to his small cottage. Before he even looked out of the door, he heard the patter of bare footsteps on the stone walkway leading from the road to his front door.

“Father!” Molly cried happily as he alighted from the posh carriage. She threw herself into his arms and they held each other tightly. She’d been so afraid for him, thinking him lost in the forest, or attacked by thieves. She checked him over, fingers probing his limbs for any injury, eyes flitting over his form both to assure herself of his wholeness and to comfort herself with his presence.

He stood motionless as she appraised him, not yet looking into his face, not yet seeing the pain and remorse there. How could he not blame himself for his folly? It was his curiosity that had led him astray, into the domain of the Beast, and it was his pride that had placed his daughter, his soul, into the arms of the nightmare.

Matthias was terrified for her. His beloved daughter who he’d been commanded to deliver to the great beast in the isolated castle with the probability that he’d never see her again. He sighed into her hair, committing the color and scent to memory. His beautiful daughter.

He hoped she would be safe. That the Beast had been merely attempting to frighten him when he gave him the roses and insinuated that they were a promise. He prayed it was only that.

He couldn’t defy the monster, not even as much as he wished he could. He knew, in his soul, that the Beast would not take defiance lightly, and that when his retribution came, it would devastate the Hoopers even more so than his demand that Molly be sent to his castle. No, if there was any hope to be had, it was in the slight chance that the Beast would tire of Molly’s constant dwelling in his domain, invading his much treasured privacy, and that he would send her away.

Matthias prayed that it would be so.

Ever the intuitive daughter, Molly pulled back from her joyful embrace and examined her father’s visage closely.

“You’ve been crying, what’s happened father? What’s wrong?” Her large brown eyes darted back and forth across his face, worry creasing her features.

Matthias heaved a great sigh and glanced back at the carriage behind him then down to the bouquet of blood red flowers clutched tightly in his fist.

“Let’s go inside, Molly. We have much to discuss.”

\--------------------------------

"I’m so sorry Molly, I’m so sorry, my love. Please, please forgive me.”

Matthias repeated it over and over as his daughter, his patient, loving, quiet daughter raged through their cottage, sobbing and throwing anything she could get her hands on against the walls, taking out her grief and terror on their meager possessions.

The roses were the first to go, shredded and crushed under her tiny feet. Then the pots and pans, crashing against the walls with a metallic protest. After that, it was her clothes, ripped from her small wardrobe and tossed haphazardly across her tiny bedroom.

Matthias did not move. He listened to her sobs, her curses, her near screams of agony and betrayal, his own cheeks wet with emotion. His heart hurt for his only child, his pride and joy. It hurt for her future, for his own. It hurt for her loss of freedom, for his loss of his will to live. Most of all, it hurt for her beautiful mother, who’d trusted him to protect their child at all costs.

He was sure he’d failed.

Her books remained untouched in her fit, as did her mother’s jewelry box, the last reminder Molly had of the woman who had died giving birth to her. In that, Matthias found some hope that his daughter had not yet given up her own. That it was still there and her agony would pass and give way to a determination to surmount this terrible obstacle in their lives.

Her tempest raged on for hours, late into the night with Matthias looking on, wide-eyed, at the daughter who had never before raised her voice in his presence. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the storm was over.

Molly stopped in mid throw, her arm going lax, as she crumpled to the floor, a hand held to her mouth to hold in the silent sobs. Her shoulders heaved with the effort of holding herself together, her slim frame looking as if it would burst apart with the force of her grief. Matthias rushed to her, hesitating just the slightest moment before gathering her into his arms, holding her as she cried herself out against his shoulder.

After a long while, she quieted and stood, pressing a kiss to her father’s cheek first, then made her way to her room, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click. He continued to listen as she rummaged through her belongings, finding a well-worn carpetbag and folding her few items of clothing to prepare for her new life.

Neither member of the Hooper family slept that night.

\---------------------------

Another person was awake as well, far from the small cottage where two hearts were breaking. He stared out of the window, watching the moon tread its lonely path through the night sky, pondering the sounds of the night. Even silence was never soundless he mused, hearing the crickets chirp and a faraway pack of wolves howl at that same cold orb in the sky.

Cold and soulless, the moon’s light is. Not warm and cheery like the sun’s golden rays. The stark silvery light of the moon brought out the fears and secrets men sought to hide. It was fitting that he could only exist in its glow, forbidden to partake in the joy that the sun brought to the world.

He glanced down, studying the crystal of the intricately cut glass in his hand. The amber liquid sloshed gently as he brought it to his full lips again, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat.

He couldn’t say why he was so like the moon. Only that he found a kindred spirit in her frigid gaze, night after night. The moon understood him like no other. Better than he understood himself.

Sighing, he drained the cup, studying it once more before opening his long, slim fingers and letting it drop to the floor, the shattering of the glass resonating on the cool night air.


	4. Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to get this out! I'm trying, I promise! Don't hate me!
> 
> Thanks allthebellsinvenice for reading over it for me!

He watched in silence as the carriage turned a sharp bend, the horses slowing just enough to take the curve safely. From his vantage point, he could just hear the beat of their hooves echoing through the trees and up from the valley to the high ground where he stood. He turned and jogged through the forest, following paths only known to himself and the wild animals that roamed in the night.

Sherlock arrived at his home long before the carriage, which was hindered by the winding and long-disused road it traveled. Throwing open the doors, he called for his one companion, an elderly woman who’d known him since birth and refused to leave when all others did.

“Mrs. Hudson!” his rough voice echoed in the halls of the castle, going deep into the halls to die.

“Oh, Sherlock, I’m in the middle of a batch of biscuits, what on Earth is the matter?” she asked, drying her hands on her apron. Smells of baking clung to her and he took a deep sniff of the air in spite of himself.

“The girl I told you about is almost here…” His gaze shifted, as he didn’t trust himself to maintain eye contact.

“Say no more, I’m as good as gone,” she smiled, and he felt a tiny pang of guilt at the gesture. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell her that he was forcing a father to give up his child, all to satisfy a whim. The little old housekeeper thought well of him, though only she knew why. Sherlock was not willing to throw that away just yet. It didn’t matter, the girl would be too afraid to speak to Mrs. Hudson, he’d ensure that.

A frown crossed his face, wrinkling his features. He still had no idea how long he intended to keep this girl, how long he would torture the man whose only crime was to lose his way in the vast forest. At moments, Sherlock felt almost lenient, or at least bored with the idea, and resolved to let her go as soon as she arrived, and count it as a lesson in obedience for the man. In his black moods, Sherlock cursed the interruption of his solitary life and vowed to keep the girl locked away for an age, or at least until her father had succumbed to his broken heart and shuffled off this mortal coil.

He growled, his mind still unmade as the sound of hooves reached his ears. He took in the sight of the nearing carriage from his position, leaning against one of the huge oaken doors, which were still wide open. His body language telegraphed insolence, even if his beastly form could not convey the expression as well as the patrician features he possessed in the moonlight.

The horses clattered up through the massive wrought iron gates and up to the door, dust billowing behind them as the carriage rolled to a halt. There was no movement for a long moment and Sherlock growled angrily, thinking that either his horses had been fooled, an impossible feat to be sure, or that the silly girl had gone and fainted as they approached the castle. Either way, he’d have to move, and so lose his carefully constructed image.

Striding quickly to the door of the carriage, Sherlock looked inside and stopped abruptly, the growl dying as he beheld a beautiful young women seated primly inside, her hands clasped in her lap. He stood staring at her for an unmeasured time, until she cleared her throat and thrust her nose into the air.

“It is proper for a man to open the door for the lady to exit,” she said haughtily and Sherlock’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t yet looked at him, and was attempting to order him about? A smile stole across his face, perhaps this experiment would not be as boring as he’d predicted. He found himself looking down at the door he’d unconsciously opened, perplexed, as she climbed out, her small bag in tow.

She stood silently, seeming to have run out of ideas and he bit back a laugh. She was a fighter.

\-----------------------------------

Molly stood rather awkwardly next to the carriage. Her show of defiance was just that, a show, and inside, she was quaking with fear. She didn’t dare look fully at the beast so close to her, but stole glances out of the corner of her eye.

He was, smaller, than she’d expected. Her father had hesitated to describe him to her, and when he did, his description was hazy at best. Shadows and fear were what her father painted for her.

All Molly saw was an abnormality.

She supposed when he was trying to, he could indeed terrify, but having caught him off-guard with her act in the carriage, he looked more like a lost puppy, a faraway look in his eyes.

Those eyes soon sharpened and turned to her though. Molly stiffened as he began to circle her, examining her from head to toe. He uttered a command, in a language that Molly didn’t understand, though she had a pretty good idea which language it was from her few encounters with foreigners in the village public house. The carriage moved away with his harsh words, the horses following his command. Molly had wondered at their unfaltering knowledge of the way to and from her home, and again now.

She hid her thoughts carefully as he scrutinized her, his eyes bright with a fierce intelligence. Molly fought the urge to quail under his gaze. Not because of her fear of him, though she still had a healthy dose of that, but from force of habit. Molly Hooper lived her daily life hoping that no one would notice her.

Well now, it appeared that option had been taken from her.

The beast stopped directly in front of her and smirked at her.

“And how do you intend to continue that small show of defiance, pray tell?”

Goose bumps crept up Molly’s spine at the deep raspy quality of his tones. It wasn’t human, no, but it wasn’t quite animal either. Its low register was far deeper than any human voice could manage, and the sibilants were drawn out, as if he was having difficulty forming them. She shivered and bit back a small yelp, though she couldn’t be sure it was born entirely of fear. Her arms circled her delicate frame, an unconscious gesture of self-preservation that was made difficult by the bag she still clutched in one sweaty hand.

He laughed, a deep throaty chuckle, and smiled at her, a grimace really, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth, fangs gleaming in the sun.

“I suspected as much. You should have the foresight to plan ahead, girl.”

She dropped her eyes to the ground and her head tilted slightly forward, through no conscious effort of her own. A deep part of her acknowledged his power here, his authority over her. Though her rational thought rebelled against the idea of giving up without a fight, Molly wasn’t stupid. She knew her defiance would have to be measured, that she would need to choose her battles carefully.

This fight was not worth the effort.

“You sent for me and I am here. What will you do with your toy now that it is within your reach?” she mused, out loud, but only partly directing her speech to him. She was mildly surprised to see him stiffen in her peripheral vision and realized that she’d inadvertently touched on a point he himself was unsure of. Molly wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.

A low growl emanated from him and her head sank further still, as he spoke again, the faint lisp in his speech still audible. She briefly wondered how often he spoke aloud, as he seemed out of practice.

“Shall we play a game?” He began circling her again, every inch the predator to her prey as he straightened, drawing power to himself with just the alteration of his posture.

\-----------------------

Sherlock mind raced, possibilities and phrases tossed to and fro as he devised his plan to instill terror in the heart of the young woman who stood before him. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, abide her rebellion; Sherlock would break her, tear her apart with fear and doubt until there was nothing left but her submission to him. He would make her wholly dependent on his whims, living to please him, and when he had wrung every last drop of defiance from her, making her his willing slave, he’d abandon her. Cast her out, back into the world she came from and watch from afar as she fell apart without his guidance and direction.

He smiled as he circled around behind her. What a fun game to play.


	5. Welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I updated! I've had a million things going on and frankly I'm rather afraid of this fic because it's uncharted territory for me. Thank God for allthebellsinvenice, who probably hates me by now because she's had to hold my hand through this and put up with all my whining and poor grammar lol Seriously, I can't thank her enough.

Sherlock smirked, a plan to put this girl, who had unwittingly disturbed his normally unflappable calm, in her place once and for all.

He stopped in front of her, looking up and down her body boldly, and hid his triumphant grin at her shiver. He knew well how to evoke the reaction he was looking for, and congratulated himself on not losing his edge in the long years of near solitude.

“Come with me, girl,” he commanded, turning on his heel to head for the door. He paused when there was no movement from her, turning slowly to face her again.

“I said, come with me,” Sherlock growled, not at all pleased with her resistance.

She raised her chin hesitantly but with an air of defiance, brown eyes glittering in the afternoon sun.

“My name is Molly,” she replied, her voice quiet, but strong.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed. All right, so maybe he had congratulated himself too quickly. He turned, the heavy oaken door solid against his back as he lounged against it, affecting a bored air as he studied her. In truth, Sherlock was anything but bored with her. This girl was the most interesting thing to come along in an eternity. And Sherlock was going to make the most of the delightful distraction.

His lip curled, making his expression somewhat of a snarl, which he realized was not what he was attempting to do. He dropped the look immediately, disconcerted that in his human form, it would have been an arrogant face, one that he’d used many times with devastating effect. He shook himself slightly, returning his focus to the girl who still stood in the same place, and smirked cruelly.

“I don’t care what your name is. You are in my home and I shall call you what I please. Now come, girl!” He raised his voice at the end and watched as she jumped slightly at his tone.

Without waiting for her, her turned and entered his home, pleased to hear her shuffling footsteps behind him and her quiet gasp of awe as she passed through the door and took in the rich furnishings and grandeur of the castle. Judging from her general appearance and meager bag of belongings, his home was far above anything she had ever even seen, much less had at her disposal.

\-------------------------------------

Molly had to remind herself how to breathe when she entered into the great foyer of the castle. It was far larger than she’d realized standing outside, and lavishly decorated, the smell of oiled wood and leather making her take in a deep breath of appreciation. It smelled like the library she’d visited, on her one trip into the city, and Molly instantly loved it. The floors were a rich dark wood, with plush rugs dotting the area; one in front of each of the twin doors on opposite sides of the far end of the room, another in front of the massive staircase directly before her and one under her feet, beside the great entry doors.

The ceilings above her were high, vaulted due to the lack of a second floor in the foyer. The staircase led up to the landing of the second floor, with what appeared to be halls off to the left and right. A luxurious looking carpet began at the bottom of the stairs and continued up, its color similar to a dark red wine. She wondered if it would feel soft to the touch, for it certainly looked like it was.

Her eyes darted about, adjusting to the dimness of the space, and she noted two enormous pieces of art on the walls, directly facing each other. One was a brightly colored painting in a gilded frame, and Molly estimated that it was at least her height, maybe larger. On it there were figures, horses and men, clashing in a great battle of some sort. Molly was fascinated, but tore her eyes away, hoping to examine it in more detail at another time. The other work of art was in the form of a tapestry, hung on the opposite wall, not quite as large as the painting, but still imposing. On it, there was a family; father, mother, and what appeared to be half of one son. Molly’s brow furrowed, as she examined it more closely. The entire lower right corner was frayed and singed, and a large piece had been burn off, the stone wall behind blackened. Her interest piqued, she leaned towards it, her feet pulling her closer.

\------------------------------------

Sherlock turned to look at the girl, only to find her enthralled by the ruined tapestry on the wall. He’d honestly forgotten it was there, and was not thrilled to be reminded of its silent presence in his home. He watched as her eyes flitted over it, her small face raised to look above her. Frowning, he slammed his large paw-like hand down onto the bannister of the oversized staircase, the sharp sound ringing out through the foyer, and making her jump and glance wildly around.

“Now that I have your attention,” Sherlock said coldly, glaring at her angrily. She was trying his patience, what little he had to begin with.

He turned and headed up the staircase, smiling to himself as he heard her nearly silent steps meekly following behind. Her light footfalls reminded him that he needed to curb her curiosity immediately and he stopped abruptly at the top of the stairs. He motioned to his left, where a long hall was interspersed with doors and large windows, shrouded with thick, velvety drapes.

“This will be your wing of the castle. You may roam it as you please during the day, when I do not have use for you or have grown annoyed with your stupidity.” He was fairly certain she snorted lightly at that but couldn’t be positive so he ignored it and continued.

“At night, you will be confined to your room. To insure that you do not leave it, I will fit the outside with a lock.” He smirked at her look of dismay.

“No temptation.” He almost laughed at her pout, which she tried in vain to hide from him.

Pointing to his right, at the large wooden door next to the top of the stairs, he turned to look fully at her.

“Under no circumstances will you ever enter this wing of the castle. Never.”

Her eyes were on the door and he reached out, touching her for the first time, lightly and carefully catching hold of her chin and tilting her head towards him, suppressing the shiver that ran through him at the surprised gasp that escaped her.

“Do you understand me?” He demanded, holding her gaze until her head dropped, her eyes on the floor as she nodded silently, which wasn’t good enough for Sherlock.

“I said, Do. You. Understand. Me?” he roared, the volume of his shout making her take a frightened step back. Good, she should fear him.

“Yes,” she stuttered, and his brow furrowed. No, she needed something to call him. Not his name, no, it was too precious to him, too fragile for the form he held in the sunlight.

“You will address me as ‘Sir’ at all times,” he commanded sternly, and she nodded again. At his growl, she hastened to say the requisite “yes sir,” albeit, rather grudgingly.

He nodded; that would do for now.

Sherlock set off down the hall to the left, dragging her by the arm. He was suddenly angry, and impatient to be rid of her for the night so that he could think in peace. The sun was setting as well and he needed to be ensconced in his wing of the castle before that occurred.

He all but threw her into the last door on the right, a spacious room that he’d had Mrs. Hudson prepare the previous evening. She’d brought up a tray as well, before they’d entered the house so there was a sizeable meal waiting for the girl, with cold meats, breads and cheeses, along with fruit and red wine. She wouldn’t want for the night.

She stumbled into the room, and he stared at her coldly as she collected herself, turning to face him.

“The door will be unlocked when you wake. Sleep well, little one.”

With those words, Sherlock slammed and locked the door, steeling himself against the heart wrenching cry of despair from the girl inside.


	6. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has subscribed/bookmarked and left comments on this fic so far! I want to hug you all!
> 
> And a HUGE thanks to allthebellsinvenice for chopping this one down to size and telling me which of my ideas worked and which were absolutely bonkers and pulling me back on course when I'm so factually inaccurate that it's painful. Really though, she's an angel in beta form and you should all go read her fics because HOT DAMN. Anyway, on with the story!

She knew that it was futile, beating her small fists against the smooth, unyielding wood of the locked door. Molly did it anyway. It helped, taking out her frustrations in such a tangible way. She didn’t dare break anything in the room, afraid of punishment from her captor.

She finally gave up, turning to sink slowly down to the floor, her back braced against the cool wood. She looked around, taking stock of the room that would be her own for the foreseeable future.

The last rays of sun were streaming the through the grand window, slowly receding from the room as the sun set. The heavy drapes were pulled back, revealing a gossamer layer which fell delicately across the glass. It was the only window in the house she’d seen open thus far.

A large four-poster bed, made of intricately carved dark wood, stood opposite the window, piled high with blankets and plush pillows. A sheepskin was draped over the floor on the side of the bed closer to the door, and Molly had a sudden urge to sink her toes into its softness.

In front of the window stood a wooden table with a silver tray, piled high with food, much more than Molly could eat alone. The smell of cold chicken, cheese and bread was welcome, though, and her stomach growled appreciatively. She turned away, eyes flitting over the rest of the room.

Against the far wall stood an enormous wardrobe which Molly was sure would have held the entire contents of her room back in her father’s home. Beside it leaned a long mirror with a gilded frame. All the furniture was fashioned of the same dark wood with intricate carvings of vines and flowers.

The wall behind the bed was different from the others, paneled in a lighter wood than the furniture. She supposed that if she rapped on the wall it would sound hollow, likely housing a servant’s passage. The only large estate she’d been inside had them, but they only opened from the inside. She was certain that was the case here; the Beast would not overlook such an important detail.

She pushed off the door and stood slowly, deciding that it would be better to eat and keep up her strength than to wallow in misery. The light was quickly fading, and she needed to wash up and eat her fill before she lost all ability to see her way.

Molly picked up her bag and walked across the room after toeing off her shoes by the door. Her legs were bare, as she detested the texture of the inexpensive stockings available to commoners, and her dress fell to mid-calf. Most of her simple clothing followed that pattern; Molly knew that it wasn’t entirely proper to show as much leg as she did, but having her ankles free of her skirt let her move faster and do her chores with more ease. And if it made it easier to slip off her shoes and splash in the stream when she went berry-picking, well, that was her secret.

She opened the wardrobe and put her clothes away, a chore which took little time. She moved to the vanity and examined herself for a long moment in the mirror that sat there.

“Well, Molly Hooper? What now?” she asked herself, and sighed when no answer came to mind.

Picking up a cloth, she washed her face thoroughly in the silver basin, scrubbing until her skin was pink and she was sure that the freckles that dotted her nose were lighter than before. Then she washed her hands as well as she could, as she had no desire for her food to taste like the road.

Molly moved to sit at the table, facing the window. It was nearly fully dark now, and she had to lean over to see what she was picking up.

“I wish I had some light,” she muttered, annoyed, just as she usually was, by the untimely setting of the sun.

Just as her fingers closed on a piece of cheese, a sudden light filled the room. Molly froze and looked up to the source of the glow.

Above her, she saw a curious device that had at first escaped her notice. What appeared to be a clear glass basin was attached to the ceiling, and it was emitting a soft glow, illuminating the room clearly. Molly examined it curiously, watching as the light within seemed to dance and move of its own accord, as if thousands of tiny firebugs were trapped in a jar.

It could only be magic.

She pursed her lips, staring up at the light, deep in thought. Only the faeries had magic anymore, and there were few of them left. Mostly spoken of in hushed whispers around the fire, late at night. The war had all but destroyed their ranks, and not a few had turned from the light and made their way in the darkness. She fought back a shudder.

But he could not be a faerie. For while she’d heard tales of their powers, including those of shifting their forms; Molly saw him. Saw the realness of him.

He was no magical being.

And yet, he used magic. Curious.

Molly turned back to her food and ate her fill, eyes wandering every short while back up to the light as she pondered her mysterious, cruel captor, and wondered what lay in store for her on the morrow. When she finished, she washed her hands again and changed into her simple nightdress, leaving the ties at the neck and sleeves loose, as was her custom.

Molly stood examining the bed for a long moment before she tossed most of the pillows onto the floor, leaving only two. She walked around the bed and gathered up the sheepskin, dragging it around to the side closer to the wardrobe and rearranging it there. Finally, she pulled the thick covers back and climbed in, snuggling down into the surprisingly sweet-smelling blankets and closing her eyes.

After a moment, she huffed and sat up, glaring at the dancing glow above her.

“I wish to sleep now,” she called out, only half expecting the light to heed her words. When there was no change, she sighed and rolled over, throwing the blankets over her head. It was too heavy though, to continue that way, and Molly had never been able to stand anything over her head or around her neck, so she threw them off again. As soon as her head was freed from the covers, she realized that the light had completely gone out, leaving her alone in the near pitch-darkness of the room.

“Thank you,” she called out, sparing a thought for how absurd she must sound, speaking to a light.

Molly gathered her pillow to her and closed her eyes, soon falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

\---------------------------------------

Sherlock smothered a chuckle at the confusion and sleepiness in the girl’s voice as she thanked the light for going out. He slid along the corridor that was once a servant’s passage, making a mental note to look through his books for a way to configure the light to her presence, instead of his spoken word. He didn’t want to have to sit outside her room each night to insure that the light worked when she needed it.

As he made his way soundlessly out of the passage and down the hall to his own wing, he whispered commands aloud, making the drapes of each window he passed open, letting in the night. There was no light from the moon, indeed it would not even be visible until just before dawn now that it was waning to the new moon, and his pale form was barely visible passing through the halls. Sherlock arrived back in his own quarters, breathing a sigh of relief even though he knew it was impossible for the girl to escape her room and somehow catch a glimpse of his nighttime form.

Even his faithful companion Mrs. Hudson, who was half faerie herself, could not look upon him in his natural state, lest the owner of the curse take notice.

His mood soured by the reminder, Sherlock stalked through his spacious wing of the castle, finally stopping to pick up a crystal glass and fill it with amber liquid. He took it to one of three massive floor to ceiling glass doors that led out onto a small balcony overlooking the back of the castle and pulled the doors open, breathing deeply of the cool night air. Leaning casually against the doorframe, he gazed out at the gardens that Mrs. Hudson kept beautiful. All types of flowers grew there, tended with her minor magical capabilities. The only area she didn’t care for was the rose garden, which was Sherlock’s domain.

Shaking his head to rid himself of troublesome thoughts, Sherlock took a sip of his drink, relishing the burn in the back of his throat. His wandering mind led him back to the room across the castle, where his captive lay sleeping. Sherlock sipped his drink as he pondered the girl.

Molly. Her name echoed in his mind, giving her a form, a place in his well-ordered musings.

She was pretty; Sherlock had been taken aback at first by her beauty. Perhaps not in the classical sense, but her features were dainty, like the rest of her, and the stubborn set of her jaw went well with the upturned nose and smattering of light freckles. And her eyes; he could’ve lost himself within them, and almost did before remembering that he was supposed to be the one with the power in their relationship. He was her captor and she would bend to his will, or regret it.

Frankly, he was excited by the prospect of a fight, happy that she wasn’t the meek, timid young woman he’d supposed she would be. Her spirit was strong, and her temper fiery, and Sherlock smiled as he thought of the battle for her submission.

An image flashed in his mind of another kind of submission, not only of will, but of body as well. Her hands tied, eyes covered, body bare for him to explore and use for his pleasure. He would call her his beauty, his little one, and she would moan incoherent praises as he worshiped her body. Little one, it suited her perfectly. She was so tiny. She would fit perfectly under his body, arching into him, writhing in ecstasy.

He shifted uncomfortably. No, NO! He would not visit her in the middle of the night like some beggar. He wouldn’t.

But the thought was now firmly planted in his mind, Sherlock found that he couldn’t shake it. Visions of her serving him, kneeling at his feet with her wrists and ankles bound; a silken band across her eyes the only material on her small frame. She’d be so beautiful with her hair piled high on her head in the fashion of the nobility, with a circlet woven through the long, cinnamon colored locks, diamonds glinting in the cold light of the moon.

Sherlock shook himself, forcing his thoughts out of that vein, and tilted back the glass, downing the rest of the liquid before slipping into his own bed, which suddenly seemed far too large and cold for his liking.


	7. Blossoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go lovelies, a super long chapter to make up for my not updating for a while! Hope you like it.
> 
> A mega huge thanks to allthebellsinvenice for all the notes and especially for taking that horrendous fail of a poem and turning it into something magnificent. Seriously, that one was all her guys.
> 
> A big thank you to mizjoely as well for the final pass through and edits!

Molly groaned and rolled over, hiding her eyes under her arm.  The sun was streaming in through the window opposite her bed, bathing the room in a golden light. She sat up, blinking owlishly, and looked around as it slowly dawned on her that she was not in her familiar room in her father’s quaint but cozy home. Molly groaned and stretched, mentally steeling herself to get out of bed and face whatever the day held for her.

As soon as she put her feet on the ground, she knew someone had been in her room. Her bare feet hit the cold stone floor where she’d dragged the sheepskin to the night before. She peered down and it was nowhere to been seen, so she clambered back across the pile of blankets and looked down on the other side, finding it exactly where it had been the previous night before she’d moved it.

Molly’s brow furrowed and she looked around, noticing other minor changes in her quarters. The pillows she’d tossed to the floor were neatly stacked against the wall by her wardrobe. A clean, dry cloth sat next to the basin of water. She glanced over to the small table. The food from the night before had been removed at some point, and replaced with a plate of fruit and a glass pitcher of what appeared to be juice.

Her eyes flitted to the door, thinking of the Beast’s promise that it would be unlocked when she awoke. She desperately wanted to run over and throw it open, sprint down the stairs and out of the castle, straight back to her father and former life, but she knew that was not an option. The Beast would never allow it. No, she was here for as long as he desired her company, and there was nothing she could do about it, short of ending him. And that wasn’t really an option, not for Molly. Not because she was afraid of death, not at all, only she couldn’t imagine herself being the one to cause it. Not even to someone such as her captor.

Molly stood and went about her morning routine, desperately hoping she would be allowed to wash at some point. She did her best with the basin and cloth, then dressed in a simple outfit, choosing to leave her feet bare, as she did often at her home. She breakfasted, trying several fruits she’d never seen before. They were all delicious and cool, the juice bursting in Molly’s mouth, causing her to moan with delight several times.

\------------------------------------------

Sherlock paused outside her door, hearing a distinct feminine moan from within. He stared at the door, puzzled. Was she pleasuring herself? At this time of day? He pulled his cloak around him clumsily attempting to hide the front of his body, just in case, and cursed his clawed paw when it caught on the seam and ripped a small hole that Mrs. Hudson would no doubt have to fix later.

Sherlock threw open the door, to find the girl seated at the table in the midst of devouring a large strawberry. She stopped mid-bite and gulped, her hand slowly drifting back to the table to place the half-eaten berry back in the bowl that Mrs. Hudson had dropped off when she’d tidied the room just before dawn.

He cleared his throat, wincing internally when it sounded more like a growl and he saw her eyes widen infinitesimally, though she was obviously trying to hide it. She stood quietly, and clasped her hands behind her, unconsciously assuming a submissive stance with her head slightly bowed as if awaiting punishment. He sucked in a breath, banishing naughty images from his mind brought forward by her posture.

“You will accompany me today,” he said, extending his arm to her. She hesitated before stepping forward and gingerly placed her small hand over his paw, her touch feather light. Sherlock turned and exited first, turning so as not to lose the physical contact.

“You may help me with my tasks,” he continued conversationally, as he led her down the hall, which was bright with sunlight. He took her downstairs and into the lower east wing of the castle, directly under her rooms. At the end of the hall, which was darker than upstairs due to the closed drapes, was a large set of double doors which Sherlock opened, letting go of Molly’s hand in the process. He smirked at the gasp behind him as the room came into the girl’s field of vision.

It was a large atrium, filled with light from the morning sun. Inside, all manner of plants grew, many climbing and winding up the sides of the room, clinging to the metal support structure. Sherlock entered, making his way around a line of plants to a large wrought iron table with a glass top in the center of the large area. He looked over his shoulder to see the girl still standing in the doorway, transfixed by the beauty of the room. He looked up, realizing that it had long ago ceased to affect him then back at her, appreciating the look of pure awe on her face. Sherlock decided that he liked that look there, and would take every opportunity to impress her in the future.

“Here,” he snarled at her, enjoying the way she snapped instantly to attention, focused solely on him. She meekly followed his path round to the table and stood before him, her eyes sliding to the table where his favorite possession sat in its usual place.

“That is a microscope,” he said condescendingly. He smirked as her eyes widened again and noted that she looked almost eager. “It’s a device that-”

“You can use it to see things that are too small normally!” she interrupted, clapping her hands together in excitement.

Sherlock stared at her, momentarily stunned by her knowledge of and ecstatic reaction to his prized belonging. After all, there were not many in the world, and few knew of the revolutionary way it was changing long held beliefs on basically everything from medicine to how the reproductive structure of plants functioned, which was precisely what Sherlock planned to study now.

“Yes,” he answered finally, unable to come up with a cutting response, especially when her expression remained so elated as she examined the object from afar.

 _Perhaps,_ he thought with a wicked grin, _if you are very good, I’ll teach you how to use it one day._

Sherlock turned and picked up a small basket with some difficulty, his paw being larger and more cumbersome than his human hands. Normally, he would do his experiments at night, when he could muster the finesse required for his more delicate tasks. He did not particularly want to think about why he was clearing his schedule, so to speak, instead claiming in his own mind that he was merely using the tedious tasks as a way of assessing his captive’s temperament and willingness to obey his whims, no matter how wearisome they might be.

He beckoned her to him, pleased to see her readily follow his unspoken instruction, and he shoved the basket into her hands. He picked up a small knife from the table, and handed it to her as well.

“Go and cut some flowers,” he ordered, disguising the command in the tone of a suggestion, smiling to himself when she paid no heed to the command, instead automatically looking around at all the blossoms.

“Which?” she asked, returning her gaze to him.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied, “just bring several of each type that you chose, and don’t bring more than a few different ones.”

He turned away then, affecting an indifferent air as she sauntered away, but watching out of the corner of his eye as she leaned over to inhale deeply of a fragrant white jasmine. She smiled to herself and moved on, cutting several blue irises, one of which she examined curiously. It was not a native plant, so she could not have seen one before. Sherlock watched, rapt, as she looked it over, smelling it, feeling the texture of the petals and twirling it between her fingers.

She moved on and looked up in surprise when the temperature cooled. She took two steps back, obviously feeling the difference in the two areas and looked over to him. Sherlock pretended to be busy, not wanting to be caught watching her like a love-addled teen. Why his mind chose that particular analogy, he wasn’t sure.

She walked on, and he grew impatient, even though he very much enjoyed the expressions that flitted across her delicate features. He would much rather that the look of awe and joy that crossed her face be caused by something he did, rather than their surroundings.

“You are trying my patience girl,” he growled, calling to her across the room. “Bring them here,” he said, watching her calmly as she scampered back to him, holding the basket in front of her like a peace offering. He took it, setting it on the table with a loud thump, which made her jump slightly.

“Pull them out. Arrange them in lines, each type in a different one.” She silently did as he said, though he was sure that her curiosity was urging her cooperation, rather than any real desire to serve him. Not that it wasn’t there, she just wasn’t actively thinking along those lines, it was more a subconscious obedience.

Sherlock smirked. He had a good idea how to turn her into an active, willing servant, but it would require a little more finesse than he possessed at the moment.

Clamping down once again on his wandering thoughts, Sherlock glanced down at the table to see that she had done as he required. He gave her strict instructions on how to dissect them, a task too delicate for his large and heavy paws, and was gratified to see her follow his orders implicitly. Not once did he have to correct her method, and Sherlock’s mind rambled again, thinking of all the other ways her obedience could serve him.

When she’d finished her task, she set the blade down onto the glass surface of the table, the clink of it hitting, drawing him from his reverie.

“Good,” he commended her, congratulating himself inwardly as she glowed under his praise.

They took a break at midday to eat a light luncheon; Sherlock went to the kitchen himself to collect the tray and pitcher of water from Mrs. Hudson, who he was still wary of introducing to his guest. After they finished and washed up, they prepared to resume their labors.

He then gave her several small paintbrushes and taught her how to dust pollen onto thin pieces of glass for him to inspect under the microscope. She did her task dutifully and they lapsed into an easy silence, except for when he needed her to do something. She didn’t speak, but the glances that Sherlock stole showed her brows furrowed in thought as she chewed her lower lip, which he found rather distracting.

He praised her once again when she had completed her work. His smile turned to a glower, however, when she crossed her arms.

“I am more skilled than you think I am, if you feel the need to praise me for such an easy task,” she said, her voice an even tone, as she subtly pushed back against his commanding approach.

Oh no, Sherlock could not allow defiance.

\----------------------

“You know,” the Beast said, glancing over at Molly, who had looked at him when he spoke. “Flowers are the childbearing part of the plant.”

She stiffened and he smiled. She didn’t know what to make of that statement. While it could be simply an observation, it could also be a loaded sentence, a subtle threat. Her breath quickened and to her dismay, it wasn’t only caused by fear.

“Each flower has a male and a female portion as well,” he continued, looking through his microscope. After a moment he reached out blindly, grabbing Molly by the elbow. She yelped at his touch, both surprised and fearful as he dragged her closer to himself.

“Look,” he said, motioning to the device as he stepped back. Molly bit her lip, her eyes flitting from the Beast to the microscope. She desperately wanted to peer through the lens but doing so would place her directly in front of him, and she would have to bend forward, pushing her bum out towards him.

Her curiosity won out and she stepped forward, trying to bend as little as possible, a difficult feat.

“The Greek call the two parts the Androecium and the Gynoecium, man and woman’s house respectively,” his deep voice rumbled behind her as he expounded on his previous statement. “Though, I do not think that the plant can bear children on its own. Like humans,” he paused, “they need a lover.”

Molly went absolutely rigid then, and was highly aware of the creature behind her. He was close, but not overly so, and Molly knew he could see her shiver and hear her quick, shallow breaths. She straightened up quickly and returned to her side of the table, resuming her task of dissecting the blossoms for his study without a word. He moved back to his studies and they worked together in silence for a while, the tension from both sides palpable. He glanced over every few moments, watching her as she worked, and Molly tried unsuccessfully to hide the flush of her cheeks and slight shake in her hands.

She bit her lip, warring with herself over something. Finally, she gave a tiny nod and glanced over to him, while continuing to work.

"Why would you want to cut the live ones and not just experiment on the ones that have fallen? You're killing them just to satisfy your curiosity," she asked, both genuinely wanting to know, and attempting to needle him subtly.

He stopped his work at the other end of the table and turned to face her, replying coolly, "Everything passes eventually girl, what does it matter if I hurry the process?"

"Aren't they more beautiful whole and well?" Molly retorted, somewhat angrily.

"Some would argue there is more beauty in the broken," the Beast smirked.

"And are you of that opinion sir?" she spat out, now both furious and afraid. He could break her so easily and she was beginning to fear that he intended to.

He hesitated. "Perhaps not broken, no."

\----------------------------------------

Sherlock looked back down at his work, an old poem coming to mind. He began to recite it, studying her out of the corner of his eye.

“The bee so bold bows down before

The beautiful, blushing flower

Tell me my dear, the bee did say,

Might a suitor steal an hour?”

 

He watched her carefully out of the corner of his eye as she stiffened, her skin prickling visibly. She shifted, and he moved a bit closer, reciting the lines easily, taking care to enunciate every word correctly through the impediment of his fangs.

 

“Sir, laughed the flower, her face alight,

Your words do trouble me so

For I know not if what you say is right

Or if I am not to know

 

Fair maid, said the bee, his heart astir,

You have but to say the word

For no new flowers may sprout from seed

If the bee may not be heard

 

The word I do give, cried the flower, oh yes,

The garden shall bloom in the sun

My suitor brings pollen to please me

And the two shall be as one

 

And so the year turns round again

And the moon ne’er bloomed so bright

Upon the dance of truest love

As the flower’s blush that night”

\-------------------------------

His voice was so rich and deep, far too deep for a human, and his tones danced over the words of the suggestive poem. Molly vaguely thought that she might be losing her mind, but she couldn’t deny that she was aroused by the words and his delivery of them.

He WAS attractive, though not in a physical sense. The Beast was power, and power is an aphrodisiac, heating the blood of even the most discerning woman. She tried to fight the shiver that ran up her spine, but couldn’t keep it from creeping its way up her back slowly.

As he recited, he'd advanced on her slowly, and was now quite close to her. Molly tried not to flinch as he brushed against her arm as she busied herself at the table with him at her side, looking down at her. He smelled heavenly, a mixture of pollen which was stuck to the finer hairs on his paws and arms, and a heady, masculine scent, potent and musky, which threatened to make Molly lightheaded. If she closed her eyes just so, (she let them drift shut for a mere second,) she could almost imagine a man instead of the Beast before her.

His low growl brought her back to reality and Molly turned to face him, attempting to seem more confident than she felt.

“I’m finished. You will clean up.” He no longer bothered to hide his commands behind a questioning tone and she realized that he’d been ordering her about since the morning. “Dispose of the samples and return the room to the way it was when we entered. Then you may wash and join me for dinner,” he ordered, already striding towards the doors.

“I will clean up?” she echoed incredulously, looking at the mess around her. “Excuse me? I won’t take orders from you. If you want this place clean you may do it yourself,” she said, then quailed as he turned his piercing amber gaze on her. “Or at least help me,” she finished lamely.

She stiffened when he laughed, a gurgling growl of a sound, and glared at him across the room.

“Help you? I thought you would be capable of such a simple task,” he mocked, throwing her words from before back in her face. “Obviously, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have expected you to be proficient in anything such as this. I suppose I will have to help you,” he said, the final two words coming out in a sneer.

He turned slightly, as if preparing to reenter the room, and Molly clenched her fists in fury.

_Capable indeed, I will show him._

“No need,” Molly bit back, her words cutting the air with their sharpness. “I am more than capable of performing this light task,” she boasted, diminishing the enormity of the job for the sake of her gloat.

“Good, be quick,” he smiled, and promptly strode out of the room, letting the doors bang closed behind him, and leaving Molly to curse how she’d just been outwitted so skillfully, ponder his behavior, and examine her own reactions to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love reading your comments!


	8. Decay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allthebellsinvenice and mizjoely are fantastic for putting up with my whining and terrible grammar!! Thanks so much lovelies!

Her bare feet made little sound as she padded through the halls of the castle. It was the first time she’d been allowed to walk through it alone and she would have loved to explore each of the closed rooms along the corridors, but she had already taken too long.

After the Beast departed, Molly had tidied up the area where they had worked throughout the day. It was no small task, taking far longer than she had anticipated.  When she’d exited the room, a note fluttered to the floor. She peered at it curiously. The handwriting was loopy and large, and there were several smears across the thick page.

**Go to your wing and enter the room just across from your chambers. You may wash before dining with me. Do not keep me waiting long.**

She glanced over it again, and took off down the hall, heading to the room she’d been directed to. She reached it, having seen no sign of her captor. The door to the room was identical to the others in the hall, and firmly closed. She opened it slowly, not knowing what to expect.

The room was brightly lit, the ceiling having several window-like panels of glass placed into it, allowing the sun to shine into the room. Molly gasped as she looked around her. The floors and walls glittered with thick, blue-tinted smooth pieces of glass, and towards the far wall, a river of water ran down the glass, pooling in a lowered portion of the room. Molly had never seen anything like it, and she doubted such a thing existed anywhere else. It was a marvel.

Glancing to her right, she noticed a vanity, not unlike the one in her room, complete with a plush bench and mirror. Across the bench lay one of her dresses, her nicest one, and fresh undergarments. She blushed to think that the Beast had gone through her belongings and had handled her underclothes. There were no shoes, for which she was grateful.

She hurriedly stripped off her clothes and stepped down the stairs into the pool of water. It was cool and refreshing, so much better than washing in the river or sponging off with water from the well back home. Molly felt as if she could spend hours lounging in the water, but she was mindful of the warning the Beast had given her about not making him wait for her.

She splashed a bit and accidentally knocked over a set of small bottles perched next to the pool. Curious, she uncorked one to see the contents. She sniffed it cautiously, and sighed with pleasure as the smell of flowers and vanilla met her nose. She poured a little of the liquid into her hands and was surprised to see it lather like soap.

“How odd,” she muttered to herself as she poured some more of the liquid into her hands and washed her skin and hair with it, dipping below the water to rinse. She looked at the other two bottles, one of which held oils to make her skin softer, and the other which held a sweet smelling liquid that she didn’t know the use for. She climbed out of the water and dried herself vigorously with a large cloth. Molly used the oil sparingly on her skin and dressed quickly, loath to leave the peaceful room but worried that she would upset her captor.

Shadows had begun to creep across the room, though it would be some time before the sun actually set. An impatient growl sounded through the halls and sent Molly scurrying the last few steps to the dining room, which she identified easily considering that it was the only room in the castle that was lit. Pausing at the door, she peered into the dim room.

Her host was seated at the end of the table nearest to her, all but invisible in the high-backed armchair he occupied.

“Come in, girl,” he rumbled, the impatient note still easily heard in his tone.

“I told you, my name is Molly,” she muttered under her breath before making her way around the long table, hoping to sit at the other end. To her dismay, the only place set besides the Beast’s own was at his right hand. She slipped into her chair, keeping her eyes downcast.

The fireplace was lit behind her, for though the afternoons were warm, the evenings still held the chill of winter. Molly looked at the table, her mouth watering at the plethora of delicious-smelling platters of food. There was roasted chicken and freshly baked bread, several types of fruit, a creamy soup that smelled of cheese, and several other dishes that were covered. Her eyes flitted from the food to her host, who was watching her intently, his lips curled up in what should have been a smirk.

After spending the day with him, Molly was no longer frightened by the grotesque parodies of normal human expressions that flitted across the Beast’s face. She was still very much wary of him and what he could do to her though, so she focused on reading his minute changes in countenance, hoping to get a glimpse of what thoughts were passing through his mind. Now, as he regarded her silently, she dropped her eyes back to the empty silver plate in front of her, electing to let him make the first move.

She didn’t have to wait for long, as a sudden movement startled her. The Beast stood, with a grace that was unnatural for someone his size, and snatched up her plate, holding it delicately between two huge fingers. She followed the movements of his hand, noting that he seemed to perform the actions with ease, making her believe that he’d had quite a bit of practice in the ritual. He began to silently pile food on her plate, not stopping until it was overflowing with a bit of each dish. He scooped up a bowl, ladled soup into it and placed it next to the plate on her right. He repeated the actions with his own plate, foregoing the soup, then poured them both a glass of wine, setting hers next to Molly’s already full glass of water. Throughout this, neither said a word.

Finally, he finished and seated himself again, and began to eat. Molly watched him out of the corner of her eye for a moment before tucking into her own food, caught by surprise at the hunger pangs in her gut. She was no stranger to hard work, but she was a healthy girl, with a soft belly and full thighs, and was unused to eating so little during the day. She scarfed down the food, tipping up her bowl of soup to drink from it. She glanced back to her host and paused, chewing a piece of bread slowly, surprised by the almost delicate way he fed himself. His deep chuckle told her that he knew she was watching him and she blushed.

\---------------------------------

Sherlock ate daintily. Just because he was cursed to inhabit a beastly form did not mean he had to become one in habit. He fed himself small bites, chewing slowly, careful not to spill food on himself. It had taken a long time to be able to feed himself without making a mess and he was disinclined to return to having more food hit the floor than his mouth. Normally, Sherlock waited until after sunset to eat, making it much easier on him, but that hadn’t been an option if he wanted to dine with his guest, so he was careful.

He ate much more than he used to now, his hulking form burning energy faster than the slight human body he possessed in the moonlight. He caught her watching him, her mouth hanging open slightly, no doubt surprised at his daintiness as he ate. Sherlock chuckled. He had confused her without even meaning to, a pleasant thought.

He made no secret of observing her as she ate, more slowly than before, perhaps reminded of her own manners by his behavior.

She sat in silence and he brooded, wondering how to goad her into conversation. He cleared his throat, getting her to look up at him.

“How did you know what a microscope was?” he asked, the question having plagued him all day. He couldn’t imagine how she’d learned of the device, as they were quite rare, though he was sure they would become more popular in time.

She seemed to think for a moment. Sherlock was distracted by the swipe of her pink tongue across her upper lip before she began to speak.

“I’ve always had an interest in the sciences, sir. Once, I went with my father to the city on the sea. While I was there, I went to the library and read as many books as I could. There was a man there who saw what I was reading and asked if I would like to see a wonder. My father accompanied me to the address the man gave me and I was shown into a room where the man was studying specimens under a microscope. He wouldn’t let me touch it,” she said wistfully, “but he didn’t have to let me see it at all, so I am grateful.” She took a sip of her wine.

“What were you reading that made him take notice?” Sherlock asked, his interest piqued. He’d always loved the sciences as well, devoting long hours to study.

“I was copying the anatomical drawings of Da Vinci into my notebook,” she replied, and Sherlock thought he might faint from sheer want. He’d admired her spirit and her body, but he knew that the thing that was most arousing to him was a brilliant mind, and Sherlock was beginning to see that the girl he’d stumbled upon was no ordinary village wench.

“You were copying…” he repeated, staring at her, vaguely sure that his pupils had probably dilated, and hoped that she wouldn’t notice.

“And the young men of your town,” he said, suddenly angry at the thought of anyone capturing her interest other than himself. “Have you a lover?” he asked, watching her carefully. She flushed hotly, but shook her head.

“I’m afraid that no one is interested in a strange one such as I,” she answered softly, and he felt a pang of pity for her. He knew well how difficult it was to be scientifically inclined in a world where the common folk still believed that allowing leeches to suck their blood would rid them of ailments.

“What else do you do, girl?” he asked, ignoring her frown at the moniker. He was avidly interested in her life now.

“Well, I have been studying decomposition of animal corpses after death,” she replied, paling after the words escaped her lips. He sat there and stared at her for a moment.

“Marry me,” he murmured, dazed, just low enough that she couldn’t make out the words.

“Hmm?” she asked, and he cleared his throat quickly, changing the subject.

“The rooms in your wing are your own. There is a sunroom, a small study, the water room you saw earlier. Did you enjoy your bath, by the way?” he asked.

She gave a small nod and looked back down at her plate, tearing apart a piece of bread slowly. Sherlock gazed at her for a long moment, envisioning her disrobing and entering the cool water he so enjoyed. The next time he bathed, he would feel her presence there. Oh, how he’d love to take her there, on a moonlit night, the water sloshing against the glass tiles, her arse in the air as he bent her over and took her from behind, her hands tied behind her back, eyes covered.

He shook himself out of his thoughts.

He gulped down some wine to combat his suddenly dry throat and was thankful that his lower half was obscured by the table. When he’d finished it he was more under control and could think clearly.

“You will not venture out of your wing without my permission,” he continued. “When I do not summon you, then you may amuse yourself there as you please. Of course, eventually, you will have run of the entire estate, with the exception of my wing.” His lips turned up in a cruel smile as he paused.

“When you become mistress of the castle,” he finished, relishing her gasp and the immediate drop of the piece of bread. He had already decided that he wasn’t letting her go. In all his life, Sherlock had never met anyone half as fascinating as this girl was turning out to be, and he had no intentions of returning his new plaything.

“I won’t!” she cried, her voice quivering with fear. “I won’t! You’ll have to kill me because I will never marry you!”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her in anger. Yes, he was in a beastly form, and he knew that she was afraid of him, but it still hurt his pride that she refused him so vehemently when he so ardently desired her.

“Make no mistake, Miss Hooper,” he threatened, using her name for the first time. “You will be my bride. If not tomorrow,” she shivered violently, “then the next day, or the next. I’m a patient man when I set my mind to it. And I never give up what I want.”

She was obviously distraught by his words but tried valiantly to conceal her distress, choosing not to reply. When several minutes passed and she hadn’t picked up any more food, he frowned.

“Eat,” Sherlock commanded. She looked glumly down at her plate and half-heartedly picked up a piece of chicken. “Good girl,” he encouraged. She drained her glass of wine and he stood to refill it, watching as she took several large gulps from the fresh glass.

When she tipped up her bowl of soup again, he grinned wickedly. Breaking the silence, Sherlock turned his body towards the girl.

“Fill my bowl with soup,” he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the quiet room. She jumped slightly and looked at him, eyes wide. “Go on,” he urged, handing her the bowl. She stood and circled the table, coming to his left side and picking up the ladle to do as he asked. When it was three quarters full, she made to set it next to his arm but he grabbed her wrist, nearly causing her to upset the hot liquid.

“No, no,” he shook his head. “I cannot hold onto the bowl without spilling it. You’ll have to feed it to me.” He grinned at her startled reaction and turning his chair so that he was facing her. Maintaining eye contact, he reached out, settling his heavy paws on the back of her thighs, delighting in the shiver that went through her. He inhaled deeply as he pulled her between his legs and set his lips against the edge of the bowl, watching her closely. Her scent was intoxicating, her hair still slightly wet from the bath she’d had. Images of her naked and wet danced through his mind, driving him wild with lust. Molly bit her lip, and slowly tilted the bowl up, letting Sherlock drink from it.

It was delicious, as Mrs. Hudson’s food always was. He sipped slowly, savoring the flavor, until he’d finished about half of the contents of the bowl. He gently tapped the back of the girl’s thigh and she pulled the bowl away from his lips. He smiled at her and was about to tell her to set the bowl down when she beamed sweetly back at him and promptly turned the bowl over, dumping the hot liquid onto his thigh, where it ran down his leg to the floor.

Sherlock roared in pain and anger, leaning over as she backed away from him, flattening herself against the wall. He breathed heavily for a few moments, clutching his burned thigh, though grateful it hadn’t been higher. He looked up and saw her staring at him, terror and perhaps some remorse in her eyes and he screamed at her to go to her quarters. She turned and ran from the room, leaving him alone.

He glowered to himself some more, angrily cursing the girl for bringing this pain upon him. He would punish her, he would…

Oh no.

Sherlock seized up, his body wracked with even greater pain. He stumbled to his feet, knowing that the sun had set, and ran as fast as he could, occasionally slamming into things, knocking items off of their pedestals in his hurry to get to his own part of the castle. He made it and slammed the door behind him, letting out an agonized roar of true pain as his body began to shift back to his human self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what you think!


	9. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without the assistance of the lovely allthebellsinvenice (go read her stuff on AO3, it's HOT) this story would not be happening. She's absolutely brilliant and thinks of everything I stupidly leave out and corrects my god awful grammar. So yeah, I'm super grateful to her. I hope you enjoy.

Sherlock collapsed onto the floor, his voice a whimper and hoarse from his roars, which had rapidly altered to screams as his transformation progressed. Now fully human, he lay sprawled stomach down on the cool stone floor, his body feeling as if it had been torn apart and sewn back together by a blind man. He cursed himself for losing track of the time, for forgetting that he needed to be back in his chambers before sunset to ready himself for the anguish he endured each morning and night. He cursed the girl for distracting him and making him suffer. Sherlock vowed to himself that he would return the favor, though not in the way she would expect.

Tonight he would teach her the meaning of respect.

Sherlock staggered to his feet, his beastly clothing falling from his slight frame, leaving him nude as he tottered through the hall to his room. He braced himself against the small table that held his vices. Most mornings and nights, he would prepare himself for the torture of his transformation. He had long since learned that the pain would otherwise drive him mad. If he began ahead of time, Sherlock found that he could dull the pain by taking spirits, his favorite being brandy. The pain was still present, but much lessened when the alcohol flowed through his veins. Those times that he did not prepare though, a much stronger remedy was necessary.

Sherlock’s shaky hands hovered over the candle wick, as he muttered to himself, hissing in pain. After a second, a tiny flame leapt from his forefinger to the wick, catching instantly. Though he had a light similar to the one in Molly’s room in his own quarters, Sherlock often preferred the dancing flames of the candle when he was in pain. The glow was soothing, mesmerizing him with the shadows cast upon the walls. He hummed in satisfaction, and picked up a small earthen bowl, pinching a bit of the contents between his thumb and forefinger to transfer it to a glass at the other end of the table. He set the bowl back down and poured a bit of brandy into it then downed the contents in one gulp.

He knew he was playing with fire when he used _lachryma papaveris,_ to give it its Latin name. Most folk called it the tears of the poppy, and Sherlock knew that it was nothing to be trifled with. He only used it when he was caught unaware by a transformation, having long since learned of its more distasteful effects on the body. In addition to the euphoria it induced, Sherlock found that in larger doses, it made him sleep for days on end, awakened only by the seizing of his body in another transformation. It also gave him an unquenchable thirst, among other, less potent, side effects.

He shook his head lazily as the drug made its way through his blood, coating his body in a sense of drowsy well-being. He smiled to himself, and stretched, feeling the last remnants of pain leave his tired limbs. Sherlock wavered, thinking of how well he could sleep with the poppy in his veins but his anger swelled again as he caught sight of his thigh in the candlelight, a vivid red mark marring the pale flesh where the hot liquid had burned him.

The girl needed to pay for her defiance.

\-------------------------------------------

Molly slammed the door shut to her room, her hands shaking, physical proof of the adrenaline coursing through her. She ran one hand through her long, unbound hair, cursing her impulsiveness. She knew there would be hell to pay for her actions and she was terrified to think of what that might entail. A million different scenarios came to mind, none of which were pleasant to envision. She finally lay down on the bed when she realized that her breaths were coming too shallow and too fast, fearing she might faint.

She sat bolt upright a moment after, clutching a hand to her throat as she heard distant roars of pain and fury echo through the castle. She clambered under the heavy covers, knowing that they wouldn’t protect her, but feeling a bit safer with them around her. A few minutes passed and the roars died down, though Molly would swear that she heard human screams as well. She sprinted to the door and held her ear to it, but heard nothing more and dismissed it as a trick of her mind. Turning back to the room, Molly quickly observed her nighttime routine, the last of the light fading from her chamber as she did so. By the time she changed to her nightdress it was fully dark, and though she’d attempted to rouse the light above her, it remained stubbornly so. She felt her way to her bed and climbed in, pulling the covers up as far as she could without feeling as if she was going to suffocate.

She gave up trying to rest a half hour later, throwing back the covers in a huff. Every noise, every slight rustle of the wind through the trees outside put her on edge and she couldn’t calm down enough to fall asleep. She lay there, staring up into the darkness, waiting impatiently for morning, as she was sure that she would find no rest on this particular night.

A creaking noise in the direction of the vanity made her catch her breath, holding it, desperate to not make a sound. It stopped abruptly, then began again, and Molly realized that she’d just heard a door open, then close. She’d known that there was a servant’s passage, but even through the panic that welled up in her mind, Molly wondered how the Beast could fit through such a small space. She opened her mouth to scream only to have the sound abruptly muffled by a hand over her mouth. A human hand.

\------------------------------------

Sherlock would freely admit that there were some aspects of the Beast that he appreciated. At the moment, it was the enhanced vision in the dark. He saw the girl open her mouth to yell and darted forward, covering her lips with his hand to still her voice. At the same moment, he muttered almost silently under his breath and a distant roar was heard. He grinned to himself, pleased that he’d remembered that particular spell off the top of his head. He whispered it again and another roar was heard, though, if he wasn’t mistaken, it came from a different part of the castle. Not that the frightened girl below would notice of course. The important thing was that she heard them, as it would make it considerably easier for her to swallow the lie he was about to feed her.

“Hush, little one,” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear. “Don’t let the Beast hear you.” Her eyes slid shut at the sound of his soothing baritone voice, though she still shook with fear. He took his hand away from her mouth, knowing that it wouldn’t actually matter if she screamed or not, that there was no Beast to come running, but satisfied that she believed there was and wouldn’t shout.

“Who are you?” she asked the darkness, searching for him in it. He was thankful for the lack of moonlight and the thick drapes across her window. Mrs. Hudson had been in, he saw, for the drapes had been open that morning.

“Who are you?” he replied. “You’re in my castle, it’s only fair for you to identify yourself first.”

“Your castle?” she repeated, her brow furrowing in puzzlement. “I thought that the Beast was Lord of the castle.”

“He took it from me,” Sherlock lied easily. Though, in a sense, it wasn’t a falsehood, more of a half-truth. “He stole it from me years ago and now holds me prisoner within its walls.” He whispered again under his breath and another roar was heard. “Do you hear? He searches for me now. He has lost me, and cannot find me. Will you tell, little one? Will you tell him that I have been here with you?”

He could see her hesitate, weighing her options.

“No,” she whispered. “I am his prisoner as well, and I have no love for the Beast. I will not breathe a word of your presence,” she blushed, “in my chambers.”

“Ah little one, you are a treasure for keeping my secret so readily,” he grinned. “I too have no love for the Beast, but he rules and we obey, do we not?” he added, a bitter note creeping into his tone as he thought of how firmly he was ruled by his transformations.

She was quiet at that, no doubt remembering her defiance of earlier. She did not choose to mention it, to his amusement, though he ruefully rubbed his leg as he thought of it. It would no doubt be tender for at least a day.

“You never told me who you are,” she said after a while.

He chuckled. “Who I am is not who I used to be,” he answered truthfully. “I was once prince of the castle, but now I am only your prince.”

The girl gazed sadly at him, and he was almost afraid that she could see him, a terrifying thought. Sherlock knew that she could never see his human form, for if she did, if anyone did, the one who had cursed him would know and come to wreck her vengeance on both him and whoever was unlucky enough to catch sight of him.

As if following his train of thought, her next question was if she could see him.

“I am sorry little one, but you may not.”

“Why?” she inquired, a pleading note in her voice.

“Because, I am cursed. If anyone lays eyes on me, they will perish.” Once again, it was only a half lie.

“Oh.” She was disappointed, the sides of her mouth dropping into a frown.

“You may touch me if you like,” he said before thinking. “And I shall describe myself to you.”

Sherlock cursed his foolishness as she sat up eagerly, reaching out to the darkness in front of her. He back away slightly.

“Unh uh,” he chided, taking her small hands in his and lowering them to the bed.  A though came to him and he smiled roguishly. “First, you must hear it all.” He licked his lips in anticipation. “You may touch me, and I will tell you about myself. But,” he paused, his grin widening. “Then you shall return the favor.”

He watched her freeze and chew on her bottom lip in a nervous gesture. A flash of arousal shot through his body at that sight, and he had to calm himself.

“All right,” she assented quietly and sat up onto her knees, facing him.

He picked her hands up and brought them slowly to his face, cupping them gently in his own as he set them against his jaw. He dropped his hands then and let her tentatively explore the lines of his face for a moment before he began to speak.

“Shall I describe myself as I said?” he asked.

“Yes please,” she said, her voice soft.

He focused on her delicate fingers running over his skin then spoke, his voice pitched low as his arousal grew.

“My face is unusual, handsome, but in a different way than most.” He brought his hands up to cover hers once more. “Prominent cheekbones,” he said, guiding her fingers to them. “A firm jaw,” he swept her fingers across that as well. “Eyes like the sea after a storm, blue and grey and green, flecks of amber in the sunlight.” He smiled and folded one of her hands to bring her forefinger to trace the defined cupid’s brow of his upper lip. “A lush mouth,” he whispered, opening her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm.

Her panting gasp went straight to his cock, which had been growing harder with each brush of her fingers across his oversensitive skin. He brought her hands up to tangle in his hair.

“It’s dark, a rich brown, and quite curly,” he said as her fingers wrapped around a lock and pulled slightly, making him growl. “No no,” he scolded gently, pulling her fingers away.

Next, he guided her hands down to his throat, then his shoulders. Sherlock let go of her then, curious to see what she would do with her little freedom. She hesitated, biting her lip, before sweeping the tips of her fingers over his collarbone, pressing lightly on the protruding bone. Sherlock sucked his bottom lip in his mouth to keep in the groan that threatened to escape as she continued touching him, flattening her hands on his skin, feeling the firm muscles of his upper body.

“I’m tall,” he whispered, “and slim, but strong. Lithe. My skin is pale, smooth, like porcelain.”

Sherlock’s eyes had closed on their own as her hands moved to ghost over his chest, gently tracing each individual rib as she swept her hands down his sides. He wondered if she would touch him so lightly when he was inside her, or if her grip would strengthen, nails biting into his skin as he fucked her.

He was pulled abruptly out of his fantasy but the sound of her snort. He opened his eyes to find her fighting laughter, her hands retreating to hold her own sides as she doubled over giggling.

“Wha- what?” he stammered, not understanding what was happening. He watched dumbfounded as she gasped for breath, her face reddening from the lack of oxygen.

“You,” she managed between chuckles. “You’re so,” more giggles, “vain!”

Sherlock stiffened. “Vain?” he repeated quietly.

She nodded, still laughing. “Vain! Arrogant! Conceited! Could you even hear yourself? Who describes their eyes as being “like the sea after a storm?” She collapsed to the bed, tears in her eyes from the force of her laughter.

He narrowed his gaze at her. So what if he waxed poetic about himself? It had been so long since someone was allowed to see his true form, didn’t he have the right to exaggerate a bit after all the time he had suffered in silence?

Sherlock stalked over to the window as the girl gained control over herself, wiping the moisture from her eyes and peering out at the space where he had been. There was silence for a long moment, then she put her hand out abruptly, feeling around in the darkness.

“Are you still there? Prince?” she whispered, bracing herself on her left hand as she leaned out from the bed and swiped her other arm through the air in a horizontal motion.

“I am,” he replied from his position across the room. Her head turned in his direction and he could barely make out that she was looking back and forth, unable to see him at all, while he was only unable to make out the details of her face due to the darkness.

“Why have you moved?” she asked, still searching for him.

He turned his back on her and felt around on the dark floor, searching for the cord of rope that he knew would be there, hidden under the heavy fabric of the drapes. He hadn’t planned to restrain her, not tonight, but she’d angered him with her mockery and he was not in a forgiving mood after the events of the evening. His hand closed on the short piece of rope used to hold back the drapes and let the sunshine in. He felt around for the other side and grinned, pleased, when he found it.

“I thought that you were finished, considering the volume of your laughter,” he sniffed, turning his back to her again even though she couldn’t see it. He was counting on her nature to compel her to apologize for her amusement, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“No, no, I’m sorry, just,” he turned to face her and saw her hand drop to the bed and her shoulders slump. “Come back, my prince,” she finished in a whisper.

He hesitated a moment but couldn’t resist going back to her, hovering in front of her, taking in the dejected downturn of her pretty little mouth. He couldn’t wait to have that mouth wrapped around his cock. Now wasn’t the time, he reminded himself, though his cock hardened again at the thought.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, brushing his fingers across her cheek gently. Sherlock watched her through heavy lids, admiring the blush that lit up her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. She didn’t bother to hide any of her reactions to him, thinking that he was as blind in the dark as she. He growled deep in his throat as her hands tentatively reached towards him once more, intent on continuing their journey down his body. His stomach muscles rippled at her feather-light exploration of his skin. He saw the exact second she realized that he wore no trousers, and her half-delighted, half-frightened expression nearly undid him.

She reached his hips and he could stand it no more. Surging up he pinned her arms to her sides and his deep voice rumbled, “That is enough, little beauty.”

\------------------------

Molly gasped, her mouth falling open as she stared up into the darkness at the space where the stranger occupied. He was leaned over her, the weight of her upper body combined with his tight grip around her wrists keeping her completely immobilized. She struggled to slow her breathing, realizing that her pants were audible in the quiet room. He shifted to lie fully on top of her the blanket separating their overheated bodies and she froze, feeling the evidence of his arousal.

Molly was afraid. She fully recognized that she was at the mercy of this stranger who’d appeared so mysteriously in her room. Her body was betraying her though, the excitement of it making her skin prickle with anticipation. She had never been more thankful for the cover of pitch black darkness.

She was terrified, and yet had never felt more free than she did trapped beneath the man’s lanky frame. The cover of night hid her blushing face and pleased smiles, though she was sure he noticed her tell-tale gasps of breath as she writhed under him. His scent as a sweet smoky one mixed with the smell of the forest and, if she wasn’t mistaken, she also smelled spirits on his breath. He spoke again and she could hear the smile in his voice.

“Now, now, my little beauty, turn and turnabout is fair play,” he said as he slowly shifted, backing away from her once more, leaving her bereft of his touch. She turned her head towards him, peering into the dark, searching for any movement, but all was quiet for a moment. Then suddenly, his hands were on her skin again, snaking their way under the covers to tickle her feet. She inhaled sharply and pulled her legs up, clutching them to her chest.

He made a tsk noise with his tongue and she imagined him shaking his head at her.

“Oh what I wouldn’t give to see those brown eyes sparkle when I touch you,” he purred, and Molly’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“How do you know I have brown eyes?” she inquired of the darkness, and was greeted with silence.

“How do you know what I look like, if you are imprisoned here?” she asked again, her voice louder.

His fingers slid through her long hair before he replied. “I have seen you, though you cannot see me.”

Molly jerked back, clambering across the bed in an attempt to put distance between herself and the intruder. “You’ve tricked me! You have no need to touch me if you already know my appearance!”

His hands settled on her ankles with a vicelike grip and he pulled her back towards him, her nightdress riding up to expose her hips to her navel.

“Everything has its price, little one,” he growled, his mouth so close to her ear that she could feel the warmth of his breath. “You wanted to touch me. Now lay back and pay your debts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're on tumblr? What a coincidence, me too! You can find me at liathwen.tumblr.com


	10. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to allthebellsinvenice for her edits and encouragement. I wouldn't be writing this story if it wasn't for her.

Molly lay frozen, the only movement of her body the rise and fall of her chest with heavy breaths. She was still sprawled across the width of the bed, with her upper body towards the door and her feet closer to the intruder. She lifted her head slowly, searching in the dark for the man who sat just beyond her bed.

“Well, little beauty?” his deep voice rumbled, and Molly shivered with fear and arousal. She held her breath and propped herself up on her elbows, peering towards the voice.

“Well?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. He chuckled lightly in response and she felt one long finger trace the instep of her foot, making her giggle and pull it away from his touch quickly, as she hooked her hands against the side of the bed for leverage. He laughed again and reached out, wrapping his huge hand around her ankle. His fingers stoked her skin gently, raising goose bumps on her legs and arms. For a long moment, the only sound in the dark room came from her labored breaths and the occasional rasp of material as his fingers came into contact with the coverlet while they skated around her ankle.

He was warm, feverishly so, and Molly wondered vaguely if he was ill. But there were no other indicators of illness, so she supposed that she was simply cool from being exposed to the night air.

“You have a power,” he said suddenly, making Molly jump slightly and look up towards his voice in confusion.

“A power?” she asked, annoyed that all she seemed to be doing was repeating his words.

“Yes,” he answered, his voice quiet. “You have a power over me. You say the word and everything will stop. Everything. I will even leave this room and never come to you again, never touch you again if that is what you desire. But you must tell me what you wish.”

Molly stopped breathing for a moment, staring towards his voice with her brow furrowed. The man in her room had her completely at his mercy, he could do anything he wanted, and yet he gave her the power to send him away.

She suddenly, desperately wanted him to stay, and the words tumbled from her mouth heedlessly.

“Please, no my prince, don’t leave me, don’t ever leave me. I’ll do as you ask, I’ll do anything you say, if only you’ll stay with me.”

Molly shut herself up by clapping her hands to her mouth as a blush lit up her cheeks with the forwardness of her words.

There was silence then a genuine boyish laugh echoed through the room, and Molly smiled at the sound. Her companion’s fingers loosened their grip on her ankle as he laughed and Molly wiggled away.

“Oh my sweet little one, you misunderstand me. I shan’t leave if you say your word. I’ll only leave if you ask it of me. Your word will keep you safe from me when I forget myself. Do you understand?”

Molly whimpered, nodding her head with a whispered, “yes.”

The sound of movement came from off of the bed and she bit her lip, looking up again. Suddenly, she felt her hands, which had returned to above her head as she wiggled away from his touch, grasped in one of his large ones. A strip of material was wrapped around both wrists and pulled tight, but not painfully so. She gasped and tried to pull away from him but his grip was too strong and she struggled in vain for a moment.

“I’m going to restrain you,” whispered his voice in her ear, and she shivered again in spite of her annoyance at her immobility.

“Why?” she asked petulantly, her bottom lip moving forward as she pouted.

“Because you’ll move too much,” he replied simply, as he moved around the bed.

“I won’t!” she protested, and he chuckled again.

“Yes, you will,” he said and Molly felt his hands around her ankles again.

He pulled her over to where she was laying lengthways on the mattress and quickly tied the material around one of her ankles. She kicked at him, but he was persistent and she was no match for his strength, stilling after a few moments, and laying quietly as he bound her ankles together. She tested her bonds and found that while her wrists were bound tightly together, her ankles were tied with some slack between them. When she tried to draw her legs up however, she realized that he’d looped her bonds around one of the bedposts, and while she could spread her legs about two feet, she could not roll well or move far from her position. She stilled after testing her restraints and listened for him, wondering what he intended to do to her next.

“Now little one, you’ll tell me if it’s uncomfortable, won’t you? I’m going to give you your word, and when I ask for it, you must say it. If you don’t say it I’ll stop. Likewise, if you need me to stop for any reason, you will say your word and everything will immediately cease, do you understand?”

Molly nodded slowly, even more confused than before, then remembered that it was dark and stuttered out a soft yes.

“Good, now repeat after me, this might be a bit difficult for you. _Occhiolino_.”

Molly frowned. “ _Occhiolino,_ ” she repeated with ease. What did he think she was? Some frivolous, undereducated tavern wench?

“ _Occhiolino_ , very good,” he praised, and her mouth turned down even more. “It means-”

“It means ‘little eye.’ It was the first name for the compound microscope, christened by Galileo. Do you think I am a complete idiot?” she snapped, bringing her arms down to her belly in an attempt to cross them, which was a failure considering the binds. There was a long pause and she eventually turned her head towards where his voice had been.

“No, little one. You are far from an idiot,” he said quietly. Molly waited for what seemed to be an eternity before she felt his fingers dancing on her skin once more. She jumped slightly at the sudden contact as he grasped her wrists and pulled them back above her head.

“Keep them here,” he ordered, his voice authoritative but still subdued in a way. She nodded to the darkness.

“Are you ready my little beauty?” he asked, and she bit her lip, debating if it would be better to call it off to tell him to leave and never return to her room to touch her. She frowned at the feeling of loss the thought welled within her and dismissed it. She would walk this road, and find out where it led.

“I am ready,” she said as she leaned back and closed her eyes.

\-------------------------

Sherlock stared down at the object of his lust as she relaxed beneath him, closing her eyes in anticipation of his touch. He was painfully aroused, but knew that he would have to be careful not to frighten her on their first encounter.

He smiled down at her, grateful once more than he could see so much better than she could in the dark.

His fingers ghosted across her hair, playing with the long locks, testing their weight and texture. He smiled as he caressed the honey-colored tresses, remembering how fascinated he’d been with them during the day. His vision was enhanced beyond simply better vision in the night. During the day, Sherlock could see so many more colors than a normal human. He’d hypothesized that animals could see more than puny men but as there was no evidence to support his theory, it remained just that.

He looked down at the soft hair between his fingers and remembered the gorgeous complexity in it as the sun fell on her. Brown could not describe its beauty. There were golds and reds, chesnuts and mahogany, chocolates and coppers, all woven within her long tresses. He was mesmerized by it, and yet, the complexity of her hair did nothing to rival her eyes.

Her gorgeous eyes. He described them as brown, but they were no more brown than her hair. Sherlock had gotten lost in them more than once throughout their day together, deciphering the flecks of color that danced within them. There were spots of amber and gold, and a light green color that had no name, none that man knew anyway. The sun reflected in them, lighting up her whole face just as her smile did.

When she gave in to his demands, when she became his queen, Sherlock would fashion a crown for her of gold with sinhalite and axilite stones interspersed with rubies to set off the complexities of her gorgeous hair and eyes.

Sherlock realized that he had stilled, and was merely staring down at the bound girl before him. He wondered how long he’d been caught up in his fantasy. It couldn’t have been too long, because she was still quietly laying before him, eyes closed, waiting for his touch.

He brought his hands to her wrists, barely making contact with her skin as his fingertips swept over her flesh, savoring the sensation as her arms prickled with chills. Working his way down, Sherlock moved slowly and deliberately to her shoulders, where he couldn’t resist leaning forward to plant light kisses on her long, slender neck.

She was breathing heavier, squirming under his ministrations, and Sherlock was glad he’d had the foresight to tie her, though he’d bring something more suitable for the next encounter. He fingered the open top of her simple nightdress and sighed against her skin.

“You should be dressed in the finest silks and satins, and have luxurious oils to pour in your bath and rub into that soft skin. I’ll see to it.” He measured her with his hands, committing her dimensions to memory as she writhed beneath him.

“No, please,” she protested softly, “my own things are fine.”

He stopped and pulled back, looking down at her. She, who had never known wealth, was objecting to his desire to shower her with luxury. He would not stand for it and lowered his voice to a dangerous growl.

“Are you defying me, little one?”

She paused, and bit her lip, obviously trying to decide if she would attempt to resist him further. She elected not to, and slowly shook her head.

“No,” she answered quietly and he pinched her hip, making her jump and stammer “my prince,” quickly.

Sherlock smiled at the sound of those words falling from her sweet little mouth. A mouth he intended to use for his pleasure in the near future. For now however, he resumed his light touches on her exposed skin.

Sherlock swept the coarse pads of his fingers across her soft skin, seeking out the more callused areas that gave proof to the nature of her work with her father. She’d not had an easy life, he could see that, but her spirit was strong and he valued her for it.

He pressed his lips to her exposed collarbone, delighting in her small rebellion against propriety as he fingered the loosened ties at her neck. Soon, he would order her to leave it off in anticipation of his arrival in her chambers. Soon, but not tonight.

Sherlock pressed harder to her skin, massaging her calves and thighs as he worked his way back up her body from her tiny feet. She was lightly moaning in pleasure as he worked the kinks out of her taut muscles, and the sound went straight to his cock, making him twitch with want. He moved gently against the side of her bed, giving in to his need to thrust against something.

He slipped his hands under her nightdress, which was still rucked up around waist from his pulling her across the bed. She gasped and shivered, the skin of her soft belly cool beneath his feverish touch. He’d known that his body temperature was warmer than that of a normal human now, but had never experienced the difference so intimately. He recalled her cool fingers on his body and wondered how they would feel wrapped around his prick as he traced lazy designs into her abdomen. His fingers made pictures and scientific symbols and words. Sherlock shook his head as he realized he’d traced the word “princess” onto her ribs at least four times.

He could feel her body tense as his hands slowly traveled farther up her body, pushing her nightdress up to her ribs. Sherlock paused, making sure that she understood his intent and did not want him to stop.

“Give me my word, little beauty or I shan’t touch you further,” he growled, smiling when she quickly stuttered the Italian word.

_So my little one isn’t as innocent as she seems._

Gently, Sherlock pushed her night clothes up farther, exposing her small breasts to the chilly night air. She shivered violently, eyes squeezed closed, and her dusky pink nipples puckered as the coolness hit them. Sherlock paused, fighting down the wave of hunger that passed through him at the sight of her tied down and exposed to him. He would not take her now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t bring her pleasure.

His clever fingers brushed lightly over her sensitive buds, and she gasped again, arching her back under his attentions, pushing her small but perfectly formed breasts into his large hands. She bit her lip, and Sherlock stopped, looking down at her.

“Don’t think,” he said, knowing that she was wondering if what she was doing was wrong. She relaxed again, taking his words to heart, and Sherlock rolled one of her nipples between his long fingers. The girl was moaning low in her throat and he was once again struck with the thought of how she would sound when he was inside of her.  

He amused himself with teasing her nipples a bit longer before letting one of his hands trail down her body rubbing gently at the slight protrusions of her ribs and hipbone.

\-------------------------

Molly froze as the man’s hands skated down her frame again. The tingling in her body was something she’d never felt before, even in those dark nights when she’d tentatively tried to sate the need that rose up within her with her own fingers. Her knickers were wet with her arousal and her eyes popped open in shock as the man inhaled deeply, his face hovering over her hip. He was so close that she could feel his hot breaths on her skin, and noticed that he was breathing fast, even faster than she was.

His hands left her for a moment, and she let out a needy whine, her brow furrowing as she chided herself internally for being a wanton whore, no better than the tavern wenches she’d been offended to be compared to earlier. No, but this was different. They were both captives, at the mercy of the Beast, companions in misery, could they not also be companions in ecstasy?

Ecstasy. She let her eyes flutter closed again as she imagined how his voice would sound in the throes of pleasure. She had no comparison, no real example, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she wanted to commit that sound, his sound, to memory. She wished she could move, at least her hands, so she could touch him as he touched her.

His fingers traced the top hem of her knickers, barely dipping below the material. Molly stiffened, at once excited and afraid of what was happening. She’d never put much stock in innocence, in virginity, though she still had hers. She had no wish to become a mother at her age, and none of the men in her town had interested her enough anyway. They were all idiots, concerned with nothing more than who killed the largest animal or conquered the prettiest girl. They were stupid, and what’s more, they were weak. Not one of them could command her attention like the man currently rubbing his fingertips across her abdomen. She didn’t even know what he looked like really, and yet she was fascinated by him, longing to puzzle out who he was and how his mind worked.

A shiver of pleasure overtook her as his deft hands moved closer to the junction of her thighs, skating across her knickers so lightly. Without any real warning, his large hand settled on her sex, cupping her through the material. Molly moaned, shifting slightly, trying to get some traction with her feet so she could lift her hips and push her pussy into his hand.

He chuckled, and traced the edge of her knickers where it met her inner thigh with one finger, before slipping his hand inside. Molly sucked in a startled breath, the obscene sound of his finger running through her slit, feeling her arousal, met her ears and she was sure that it was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard. His hand withdrew and she groaned in protest, but quickly stopped when she heard a sucking noise. She blushed scarlet when she realized that the man had tasted of her juices, and suddenly it felt as if she was on fire, a warmth spreading out from her sex to her whole body, making every nerve ending sing with arousal.

His finger pressed against her lips and she opened her mouth, letting him slip the digit inside, closing her lips around it. She tentatively sucked, earning a needy groan from the man. She smiled and sucked harder, eagerly tasting herself and his mouth mingled. It was a heady combination, at once too much and not enough. Too soon he withdrew his finger, and she pouted until she felt his hands once again slipping inside her knickers.

He ran his finger gently between her lips, putting the slightest pressure on the swollen nub above her opening. Her back arched and her hands came down automatically, scrabbling at his hands in a vain attempt to anchor herself to something. He withdrew, and she felt the breeze as he rose from his spot beside her bed.

Turning her head towards the spot where he was, Molly tried to control her breathing, which had become erratic without her realizing it. The ache between her legs drove her to squeeze her thighs together in search of relief, though none was to be found that way.

“Prince?” she panted, “my prince, where have you gone?”

“I am here,” came his deep voice in answer. “But I told you not to move, and you did.”

“I am sorry, please,” she gasped out, throwing her hands above her head again, spreading her legs as wide as she could. “Please, I’ll do as you ask.”

“I should punish you,” said the darkness, and Molly felt him shift to lean on the edge of the bed as she shivered, her brow furrowing as she confusedly wondered if she was afraid or aroused by the thought of punishment. His hand on her cunt drove the thought from her mind however, and she arched into him, a moan escaping her.

“Not tonight,” he said, his lips suddenly close to her, his warm breath leaving moisture on the shell of ear. Molly nodded slightly, her bottom lip between her teeth as she tried not to cry out.

His fingers toyed with her, dipping ever so slightly into her entrance, circling around the epicenter of her pleasure.

“ _Landica_ ,” he murmured, and Molly blushed, having heard the term on several occasions as one of the women in the tavern was frequented by a Roman traveler on his visits to town. He’d taught her some words in his language and Molly had been foolish enough to ask the meaning of them. She recalled how her face had burned as the woman had laughingly explained to her the rude words.

Her body must have stiffened, as he paused, and she heard confusion in his voice.

“You know this word?” he asked, in the tone of a statement. She nodded, then affirmed quietly.

“Yes,” she said, her face bright with shame. Her partner was silent for a moment then leaned closer to her, whispering in her ear.

“You are a wonderful mystery, my little beauty,” he said, making her shiver. His hand resumed its former occupation in her knickers, before her slipped a single finger into her channel, and Molly froze, her muscles tightening in response to his questing digit.

“Relax,” he murmured soothingly. Molly had a conscious effort to loosen her muscles, and was rewarded by his finger delving a bit further into her. His thumb was rubbing against her raised button that he’d so rudely named, and she could feel a tightness building deep in her belly. He pulled back and slowly worked another finger into her, and Molly realized that she was grinding her hips down against his hand, a sheen of sweat gathering on her brow and between her breasts.

Almost as if she’d said the word, his other hand came back to her breasts, squeezing and rolling the nipples between his fingers, making her cry out in bliss. She was gasping for breath now, her own pants loud in her ears. She could smell the sweet scent of her arousal hanging heavy in the darkness, blanketing them in a cloak of sex and sin.

He was higher now, as if he’d stood, or sat up on his knees, and Molly’s bed rocked beneath her. When she understood that he was mindlessly thrusting against her mattress in time to his fingers inside her, Molly let out a moan of pure need. She wanted him, she wanted to feel him, but she was bound and powerless to do anything but writhe in ecstasy as his fingers made her forget everything she’d ever known.

His fingers curled within her and a white hot shot of pleasure ran up her spine, exploding behind her eyes as she arched up, screaming incoherent words of ecstasy into the night. Her eyes were screwed tightly closed, but even so, she saw the sudden flash of light from the fixture on the ceiling, and heard the curse from the man beside her. It was brief, no more than a second, and darkness returned, leaving red spots dancing behind her closed lids. His hands remained firmly in place as she rode out her climax, but withdrew as she slumped down to the bed, greedily sucking in cool oxygen into her starved lungs, painfully aware of the wetness of her knickers, cool against her overheated flesh.

After calming herself, she turned towards the edge of her bed, bringing her bound hands down to feel for the man. Her hands found only empty air and she sat up, the bindings around her ankles dragging her farther down the bed as she moved upright.

“My prince,” she whispered, peering into the dark, searching for movement, anything. Molly found nothing and flopped back down on the bed, silent tears forming in her eyes.

Was she dreaming? Was it real? She tested her bonds, groaning in frustration as they did not loosen. Her tears turned to full sobs as she rolled over, planting her face into the pillow, tugging vainly on the ropes at her feet. She turned back, unable to sleep on her belly with her feet bound in such a way, and cried herself to sleep gazing up into the darkness.

\----------------------------

Sherlock sat with his back against the wardrobe, watching the girl struggle vainly against her bonds, tears welling in her eyes. He looked down at his hands, sticky with her juices and his own. He glared up at the light above the girl’s bed, frowning in annoyance.

He’d been so involved in her, wrapped up in the sight and sound and smell of her pleasure, he’d forgotten to maintain a hold on his own emotions. When she’d gasped and cried out, muscles tightening around his fingers, Sherlock had lost control and come, his emissions coating his belly and thighs, and the side of her bed. At the moment of his pleasure, the room reacted to him, the light flashing a brilliant white before the cloak of darkness returned. He’d have to be more careful in the future if he wanted to keep his little one from catching a glimpse of him.

He sat, pondering his reaction to her, watching as she cried herself to sleep, and quietly slipped back to the bed to untie her, not wanting her to hurt herself in her slumber. He stared down at her still form, tear tracks down her cheeks, eyes swollen and red, and his heart clenched.

_What have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading your reviews. This story takes a lot out of me and it's encouraging to read what you think!


	11. Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to allthebellsinvenice for the edits!!

“Yoo hoo, you aren’t going to lie abed all day are you?” Molly cringed as the drapes were pulled open and brilliant sunlight flooded the room. “Now where are those ties, ah, here they are, what are they doing by your bed? No matter, we’ll soon get this fixed up.”

Molly forced her eyes open and squinted at the figure bustling about her room with a duster.

“Now, Sherlock sent me to bring you your breakfast, and to tell you that you’re free to roam about today as he is holed up in his room no doubt blowing things up. Oh the messes he makes,” the woman chattered on.

Molly rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was dreaming. She sat up, realizing that she’d slept on top of the coverlet, but somehow ended up with a blanket over her. She fingered the thick material idly, her thoughts lingering on the previous night. She looked up, rubbing her wrists absently, and cocked her head to the side as she examined the busy figure tidying up.

She was an older woman, a bit shorter than Molly but not much, a very motherly figure. Her curly brown hair was cut short and her kind brown eyes were surrounded by wrinkles and laugh lines. She smiled over at Molly, who tentatively returned the gesture.

“Well Molly, your breakfast is here, and you can wander around the castle for the day, Sherlock told me to tell you that you’re to stick to your wing or the gardens though. Don’t know what he’s hiding, not like the rest of the castle is used, goodness knows it’s been an age since some of those rooms were opened.”

She shook her head and Molly chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, her brows knit together as she pondered.

“Who is Sherlock?” she asked eventually, making the older woman stop in her tracks.

“What do you mean who is Sherlock?” she asked incredulously. “He’s your host! Surely he told you his name!”

Molly shook her head, a rueful smile on her lips. “Umm, no actually, he neglected to mention that.”

The woman sighed dramatically. “Oh, well that’s Sherlock. He’s an odd one, but he’s got a good heart.”

“Are you his mother?” she ventured. Surely only a mother could find good in the Beast. She wondered if the woman knew of the imprisoned prince. She seemed nice enough, certainly she couldn’t condone that sort of thing. Though she appeared to be fine with Molly’s imprisonment so perhaps she wasn’t as nice as she appeared. Or perhaps she didn’t know the circumstances of Molly’s stay in the castle. Molly hoped the latter was the case.

“His mother? Oh goodness no dearie,” the lady responded, an affronted look on her face. “I’m just his housekeeper. If he was mine, I’d have beat some manners into him. But what can I do? I’m just the help. My name’s Martha, Martha Hudson.”

Molly smiled warmly at Martha, stretching against the bed, letting out an obscene moan which made her flush and remember the sounds she made the night before. Fortunately, the busy lady ignored it and Molly recovered, pulling the blanket farther up around her to hide her unfastened neck ties.

“Thank you, Ms. Hudson,” she said, as the woman made her way to the door.

“Oh say nothing of it,” the older lady replied, smiling genially. “Now if you need anything, you’ll likely find me down in the kitchens, that’s my domain and Sherlock can’t say anything about you being there so you just pop ‘round anytime you feel like it. And don’t you fret about those dishes, I’ll be up to collect them later on in the day.”

She left the room, closing the door behind her. Molly lay in the bed a few minutes more, brooding on her situation. She huffed and rolled out of bed, dressing quickly, ignoring the stickiness between her legs. She stood for a long while examining her appearance in the mirror, searching for physical signs of the change she felt within her. The girl who stared back at her was no different than she had been the day before, still the same too large brown eyes, freckles and upturned nose.

Molly sniffed at her reflection and turned away, refusing to dwell on the way she felt. She knew that there were no outward manifestations of the changes she felt in her soul, and that she was being foolish for looking for them anyway. She equally knew though, that she’d turned a corner in her life when she accepted his touch, and that no matter where the path led, she’d never be the same.

She decided to explore the rooms of her wing and perhaps pay a visit to Ms. Hudson in the kitchens a little later. She wondered if she might stumble upon her prince in her explorations but shook her head dismissively, knowing that if the Beast held another captive, he would not be so foolish as to let them come into contact.

_But you did_ , a little voice whispered in Molly’s head. _And you loved it, didn’t you? **Little one.**_

She gritted her teeth, hoping to drive the voice away, distracting herself with the fruit that was left for her breakfast. She was ravenously hungry, and barely chewed the food before swallowing. She grimaced as she realized that her nighttime exertions had given her an appetite. Pushing aside her plate when she’d finished, she stood and slipped out of her room to explore the rooms in her wing.

\----------------------------------

Sherlock lay in his bed, sprawled on his back on top of the covers. He idly stared at his hands, holding the great paws up in the air to get a good look at them.

His transformation had been hard that morning, but Sherlock hadn’t felt the desire to dull it with drink. It was all he deserved, to feel the pain, after what he’d done the night before. He shouldn’t return to her, he should have never gone in the first place.

He sighed, knowing he would go to her again. It was inevitable. He’d never been able to resist the lure of drugs, and her mewling cries were more potent than any he’d tried. He was already hopelessly addicted and he knew it.

He rubbed his face wearily. He’d have to be more careful though. The lights reacting to his bliss the night before bothered him immensely. Sherlock had tried for years to attune his moods to the fixtures throughout the castle, hoping to find a harmony with the magic in them and not have to speak them into existence as he entered a room; that they would automatically flare with his presence. To his confusion and annoyance, he’d never been able to get them to react until he lost his hard fought control. He’d gotten what he wanted entirely by accident and entirely at the wrong time. It was pure luck that the girl hadn’t caught a glimpse of his form.

Not only that, but he had to watch his references around her. She was an intelligent girl, he couldn’t keep making remarks that related to their time together during the day. She’d eventually catch on, no matter how many times he made false roars echo through the castle. She hadn’t caught the microscope reference the night before, but he knew that he was one mistake away from her questioning his explanations. Sherlock rubbed his head again.

She was giving him a headache.

\----------------------------------

Molly closed the door and looked down the hallway. She’d been in several rooms, but found nothing really interesting. A formal sitting room, the bath she’d made use of the day before, a couple of guest rooms, and a linen closet that was almost as large as her bedroom in her father’s home.

She wondered how her father was doing, and if he’d remembered to feed the little cat that sat on the doorstep every morning, hoping for fish. She was homesick and warring between furious that her father had landed her in her current predicament, and wondering if this was the best thing to ever happen to her because it took her out of her backwards hometown. It was certainly the most exciting thing to happen in her dull life.

She stood looking helplessly down the hall. One day, and she was already missing the presence of her captor, his firm voice telling her what to do, his confident mastery over her, his effortless witty sparring. She groaned, angry at herself for missing the very person who held her against her will. Sighing, she straightened and continued on.

Molly wandered around for the majority of the day, peeking into rooms, even finding several books in one of the guest rooms. She moved them to her room, stacking them on her night table and picking up one to look through.

The one she chose was on the history of magic. She lost herself in the book, reading about the practical use of magic throughout history, especially during times of war. The book taught no spells and did not delve into explanations of actual magic, but Molly found it fascinating none the less. Magic and those who used it were still spoken of in hushed whispers in the tavern late at night. It was a taboo, relegated to the outcasts and mistrusted members of society. Molly had always been enamored with it. She wondered if she could convince her captor to teach her some simple spells. She doubted it.

She finally stretched and realized it was getting late when her stomach growled.

She gathered up a fresh dress, deciding to bathe before going in search of the kitchens and Mrs. Hudson. Closing the door silently behind her, Molly stripped off her clothes and sank down into the cool water, reveling in the cool feel of it. She washed lazily, floating in the water, watching as it ran off her ivory skin in rivulets, down the swell of her breasts and the smooth plane of her belly like the fingers of an experienced lover.

Her skin prickled as she remembered her prince’s hands on her body, making her gasp and moan, sweeping over her skin leaving prickled with anticipation. Molly shook her head and squeezed her legs together, determined not to give in to the sudden ache between her thighs.

Her thoughts were not so easily swayed however, and Molly found her hand creeping down between her legs and tentatively fingering the soft flesh of her pussy. Even in the water she could feel her arousal slicking her cunt as she remembered his talented fingers on her. She leaned against the wall bracing her suddenly feverish body against the cool stone, as she tried to mimic the way he’d brought her to the edge of bliss the previous night. Her fingers swirled around her opening, moving up to rub circles around the swollen nub and her eyes fluttered closed.

She was close, so close, but the release her body sought was somehow less pleasurable with her own hands. Molly groaned in frustration even as her muscles tightened and her orgasm swept through her. Somehow, she did not feel sated, even though she’d just brought herself off. She moodily glared at the water, angry at her need for the mysterious prince’s control over her. She should hate him for using her then leaving her tied to the bed like a common whore, bound in her misery. She felt like a traitor to herself, but she could hardly contain her hope that he would visit her again that night.

She finished her bath in moody silence, pondering her body’s response to being powerless in his hands. She dried and dressed, gathering her wits to go in search of the kitchen and Mrs. Hudson, hoping for a distraction and perhaps some dinner.

\------------------------

Sherlock kept to his wing, mostly sleeping, until just after midday. He finally ventured out, and crept through the halls, making his way into an extensive room on the main floor. He breathed deeply as he entered, reveling in the smell of leather and candle wax.

He grinned up at the walls lined with books and took another deep breath. This was by far his favorite room in this house. He’d spent countless hours there as a boy, reading, learning, studying everything that caught his interest. He had an insatiable desire to know things, to be superior to his peers in his knowledge. His areas of interest veered more towards the sciences, literature and various magics, in contrast to his older brother, who had been more interested by politics and mathematics.

He’d always felt a certain competition with said brother, even more so since he lorded his vast intellect over Sherlock. Where Sherlock was a genius compared to normal people, his brother was even more so. Sherlock had never quite come to terms with being the lesser of the two.

He frowned. He hadn’t come to this room to think of Mycroft. He’d been on the hunt for a particular book. He strolled through the room, perusing the section where he should have been able to locate it. After a few minutes of frustrated searching, he remembered having seen it in one of the guest rooms of the girl’s wing. He huffed, annoyed, and went in search of it.

Sherlock opened the door to the room and immediately noticed that he hadn’t been the only one there that day. A chair was moved, a stack of books was missing, and the patterns of dust on the table were dotted with dainty fingerprints. He chuckled, amused at her interest in the books, and somewhat amazed at her ability to read them. Not many commoners could read, she must have searched diligently for someone to teach her. Perhaps he would reward her with a gift of one of his more treasured volumes from the library if she pleased him.

He took the book he found in the corner and left, retreating to his rooms after finding Mrs. Hudson and informing her that he would be taking dinner in the dining room with his guest before dusk.

\-------------------------

“Oh hello Molly love, I was about to come find you.”

Molly poked her head in through the kitchen door, her eyes avidly taking in the airy kitchens. It was cool, even with the ovens blazing, due to the fact that the large room was mostly sunken into the ground. The upper half of the room was lined with windows just above ground level. The many glass panels let in light and air, making the whole place bright and cheerful, much like the woman who spent her time there.

“Hello, Ms. Hudson,” replied, stepping into the room, her bare feet making no sound on the smooth stone floor.

“Sherlock wants you to eat with him again tonight, he’s finally come up for air. Would you like to help me bring the food out?”

Molly nodded mutely, picking up the dishes that Martha indicated. The older woman picked some up as well and carried them out and up another set of stairs into the dining room. Molly followed behind and assisted Martha with laying the dishes out on the table. They both headed back down the stairs to gather up the last of the dishes, and Molly took them up, leaving Martha in the kitchen.

She nearly dropped her load when she entered the dining room again to find the Beast seated at the table, watching her intently. She flushed hotly, and averted her eyes.

\-----------------------------

“Well, if it isn’t my mistress,” Sherlock said with a smirk.

He’d been unable to focus during the day, his mind constantly wandering to her. He found himself dwelling on her sweet scent, the way she yelped under his hands, how she scrunched her nose up when concentrating on cutting the flowers, the bright sparkle of intelligence when she bantered with him. She was a puzzle and if there was anything he loved, it was a good puzzle.

If her blush was anything to go by, she’d been thinking of him as well. He wondered if she had missed his presence not only as her mysterious prince, but her companion in the daylight.

“Have you had an interesting day exploring your new domain?” he asked.

“Your home is beautiful,” she answered quietly, seating herself next to him.

“Our home,” he corrected her.

Her gaze faltered, dropping to her plate, but she didn’t argue.

“Serve me.” Sherlock delicately picked up his plate and handed it to her. She looked at it and then up at him before standing and piling food on it.

“And you,” she ventured. “I, uhm, I didn’t see you today.” She finished with his plate and set it in front of him, refusing to meet his eyes.

“You may serve yourself,” he said instead of acknowledging her interest in his covert activities. She narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing, obviously realizing that she would only be denying herself if she refused to follow his orders. She slowly filled her plate, not taking nearly as much as she’d given him. He frowned, examining her carefully.

“Is that all you are going to eat?” he asked, watching as she went still, her hand hovering over her plate.

“I’m not very hungry,” she replied quietly, and he frowned again.

“Eat,” he ordered. “Keep your strength up. You’ll need it.”

The girl turned her calculating gaze to him. “Why exactly?”

“Escape attempts?” he said flippantly, shrugging his shoulders.

She shook her head at him, frowning.

He sighed and remembered the books that she’d taken. Perhaps he could bribe her. “All right, if you’ll eat, I’ll teach you some simple magic, how’s that?”

Her head shot up and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “How did you know that I was interested in it?”

He decided to play innocent. There was just something disconcerting about her knowing that he’d been snooping around her wing of the castle, even though it was technically his domain. He shrugged.

“Isn’t everyone? And you wouldn’t have had anyone to teach you before now.”

She seemed to consider that as she slowly chewed a roll. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” He rolled his eyes. “Now eat.”

She tucked into her food and he smiled, following her example. They ate in silence, stealing cautious glances at each other. He wondered what she was thinking, if she was thinking of him. Towards the end of their meal, he felt compelled to ruin the domesticity of the scene and took up the subject of magic again.

“You’ll need to know a bit of magic anyway when you become mistress of the castle,” he said conversationally, slyly watching her reaction out of the corner of his eye. “I won’t abide a useless partner.”

She stiffened, shooting him a deadly glare, and he smiled to himself. He was beginning to enjoy goading her into being angry with him, not only because of her sharp wit, but her cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink when she was sputtering in fury.

“I won’t. I won’t marry you,” she said quietly, her voice shaking with barely leashed fury.

“So you’ve said. But you should know, I shan’t give up that easily,” he smiled smugly at her, knowing he was issuing a challenge, a battle of wills for supremacy in their odd relationship.

“Neither will I!” she replied hotly, glaring at him, which only made him smile more. He wouldn’t settle for less now that he’d tasted her, felt her fire. She’d give in eventually. He would pursue her to the ends of the Earth if need be.

“I have all the time in the world, girl. You will bend to my will whether you like it or not. You **will** be my bride.”

Molly stood quickly, knocking her chair over in her haste, and ran from the room, sprinting towards her quarters. Sherlock grinned and followed, growling low in his throat. His primal side was howling with lust at the thought of pursuing his prey, of catching and claiming her. She ducked into her room just before him, and he skidded to a halt outside her door, breathing heavily, a delighted smile plastered across his face. He shook his head as he heard her small body thud against the other side of the door. He leaned forward, until his lips almost brushed the smooth wooden plane of the door.

“Goodnight, mistress.”

He slid the deadbolt into place and he walked away towards his rooms, his thoughts completely occupied with the little woman he was leaving behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on tumblr @ liathwen. tumblr. com


	12. Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long my lovelies. I've been dealing with a lot of stuff in my personal life. Thanks for being patient and understanding. Love you all. Hope you like this chapter.
> 
> Thanks again to allthebellsinvenice and miz-joely for looking this over and offering advice and encouragement.

“Get out of bed and dress yourself. I require conversation.”

Molly sat bolt upright in bed, her head turning wildly towards the voice. It was late and she had almost fallen asleep, deciding that he wasn’t going to come that night. It was once again pitch black in her room and she couldn’t make out her hand in front of her face, much less see the intruder who stood a ways from her bed.

“How can I get dressed if I can’t see?” she asked carefully, hoping that he’d go back on his earlier refusal to let her see him.

She waited, and let out a yelp of surprise when she felt cool fingers grasp her hand. He turned her hand over in his much larger ones, and pressed what felt like a scrap of fabric into her palm.

“I will leave and you can dress with the light on. Sit on the bed when you’ve finished and cover your eyes with this and I’ll come to you. Do you understand?”

Molly nodded, licking her lips slightly. She was already aching for his touch, even as his fingers shifted to her wrist, where she was surprised to feel him clasp her, feeling the rapid beat of her heart. He leaned forward, his bare shoulder brushing against her chest, making her inhale sharply. She felt his curls brush against her cheek as he pressed his lips close to her ear and whispered.

“Dress, but leave yourself bare for me.”

He pulled back and she heard him leave, the click of the servant’s passage signaling his exit.

Her brow furrowed as the room flooded with light, momentarily blinding her.

_Dress, but leave yourself bare for me._

What on earth did that mean?

She pondered his confusing words as she examined the item he’d left in her possession. She saw now that it was a blindfold, the deep purple of the material embroidered with swirls of golden thread. It was gorgeous, and soft to the touch. She smiled at it before standing to follow his directions, leaving the blindfold on the bed behind her.

She stood in front of the wardrobe, staring at her sad collection of dresses. Sighing, she pulled off her night clothes, and turned to examine herself in the looking glass above the vanity. Her nipples stood proudly to attention in the cool air and the dark curls that hid her sex were damp with arousal even though he’d barely touched her.

In a moment of blinding clarity, Molly understood what his words had meant and smiled, her face heating in a blush. She pulled down a simple dress and put it on, but neglected to don underclothes, reveling in the naughty feeling of her bare pussy brushing against the coarse material of the crude dress.

She fairly ran back to the bed and jumped on it, feeling for all the world like a giddy schoolgirl. She clasped her hands in her lap, crossing her legs demurely and hanging them off the edge of the bed so she faced the side of the room he would enter. Picking up the blindfold, she tied it securely around her head, making sure that she was indeed fully blinded by it. A thrill ran through her at the loss of her sense, knowing that she was once again ceding control to the mysterious prince.

Even if she hadn’t heard the click of the hidden passage, she would have known the second he reentered her room, the air practically electrified with their mutual desire. Her breath caught and she fell back against the bed with a light moan, leaving her bare legs hanging off, uncaring that they were spread wantonly, and he could no doubt see a good way up her thigh.

His deep voice echoed through the heavy air in her room as he chuckled and placed a hand lightly on her belly, pressing her back down into the bed when she reached for him.

“Good, my little beauty, I see you followed my instructions.”

She nodded enthusiastically and lifted her arms above her head, holding them above her in the same way he had done the night before. He chuckled again and she was dismayed to discover his voice was retreating once again.

“Where are you going?” she demanded, propping herself up on her shoulders in order to speak in his direction.

“I told you, little one. I require conversation. Or do you only desire my touch?”

Molly paused, considering his words. Only the night before she’d been untouched by any man and here she was wantonly begging one she’d never seen to put his hands on her body. Her brow furrowed and she chewed her lip as his considered his words, and came to the conclusion that she wanted more than his touch. She was afraid of how fiercely she wanted him, all of him, and swore to herself in that moment that nothing and no one would take her prince from her.

“Very well,” she said quietly, sitting up and crossing her legs once again, clasping her hands in her lap. “What is on your mind?”

\-----------------------------

_So much, little one, so much._

Before entering her room that night, Sherlock had gotten word from his brother. His missives were few and far between, and always brought out Sherlock’s melancholic moods. This time, Mycroft had asked Sherlock for a very specific thing, and Sherlock was mulling over how to accomplish such a task with the limited freedom he possessed.

It was difficult to think of his brother out fighting in the war. Even though the two had never been very close, sparring with each other at every chance they got, there was a fierce protectiveness there, especially now that they were the only two left of their line.

Mycroft’s requests, or rather demands, had made Sherlock think though, and he wondered if the girl might have some information that he himself had missed. The war raging in the west was common knowledge outside of the castle walls, but he knew that she would hardly expect her prince to know of it. He was, after all, a captive within the walls, same as her, and she hadn’t seen any visitors come or go, not that he should have had access to them in the first place.

He needed to be careful how he broached the subject to her, undoubtedly. It was well known that most of the more wealthy of the population had sided with the fairies who had crossed over into black magic after the battle that turned the tide in the favor of the mysterious man known only as ‘M’ who apparently controlled the forces of fairy and mercenaries intent on taking over the free world and spreading death through the lower populace and so she would probably be hesitant to speak to him about it.

“I need a sounding board more than anything,” he admitted, giving a rueful laugh. “I’ve been thinking about the war.”

“What of it?” she asked carefully, stiffening a bit, just as he thought she would.

“Well it’s actually more about the fairy folk,” he said, watching in fascination as her brows raised. He could practically see her mind working and wondered what thoughts were blossoming in her brilliant mind.

“It’s highly unlikely that **all** the fairy folk turned to the dark,” he continued, making sure to sound unaware that she was busily drawing conclusions. “Many of the fairy population would rather die than harm, after all their charge is to care for and assist all living things. Though some undoubtedly became disillusioned with their lot in life, as many or more had to have resisted.”

“There were many killed in the battle that claimed the king and queen,” Molly interjected quietly, “and even more in the Battle by the Sea.”

Sherlock was stunned into silence by her words and the weight of guilt that settled on him again. He sat staring at her for a few minutes, pondering her ability to always say the right thing, before speaking.

“Yes,” was all he said, but the agony was audible in his broken tone.

She sat perfectly still, waiting, and he finally stirred, moving closer to her.

“I have changed my mind, I do not wish to speak anymore. Lie back.”

Her face crinkled in confusion as she did as he requested, and he quickly stood before her.

“Besides, my little beauty,” he said close to her ear, making her jump as his weight suddenly hit her bed. “I can practically smell your arousal. You want me, and I’m in a giving mood.”

Sherlock smiled as she squirmed beneath him. He had moved to lay over her and her legs had spread to accommodate him without conscious thought on her part.

He was hurt, scorched by the reminder of his failure to protect him family, by his idiocy and the betrayal that cost him everything he held dear. Sherlock wasn’t one to allow that pain to overwhelm him though, so he did what he did best; he turned it into another emotion.

\------------------------

Molly breathed heavily, writhing beneath his lean frame, trying to get friction where she most needed it but he evaded her attempts. Annoyed, she pushed at his chest, and opened her mouth to bite him soundly on the collarbone. Hard.

He froze, and so did she, she eyes going wide beneath the blindfold. She hadn’t thought before doing it, and by the way his body had gone rigid, she was pretty sure that she’d overstepped her boundaries. With a snarl of anger, he pulled back, his weight shifting off of her and onto the end of the bed. One of his large hands wrapped around her wrist, jerking her up, and pulling her across his lap, his other arm pinning her down.

“Give. Me. Your. Word,” he snarled, and Molly realized that he was telling her that she could stop him. Her position across his lap made is abundantly clear what he meant to do to her even as his hand slipped under the skirt to pull it up and expose her bottom to the chilly air of the room.

“ _Occolino,”_ she whimpered, surrendering to him completely. _“Occolino.”_

The first hit landed hard a second later and she yelped, her fingers clenching into the blankets under her face. Her body tensed, then relaxed slightly as his open hand smoothed her bottom where he’d hit her.

“Do you know why I’m doing this, little one?”

She whimpered incoherently and his voice hardened.

“Tell me, or I will stop.”

“Because I bit you.”

“Because you disrespected me,” he corrected, just before another hit landed, this time on her other cheek.

She gasped from the shock of it, and the awareness of the heat pooling low in her belly.

“Count,” she heard, his voice low and dangerous. “Start with two.”

“Two,” she repeated obediently.

Another hit landed, this one harder, and she yelped again.

“Three.”

“Louder,” he ordered, and she was dismayed to feel tears stinging her eyes, even as she squirmed on his thighs, needing something, anything to sate the need she felt. It was a hunger, a dark need for him to flip her over and lay across her once again, the weight of his masculine body pressing her down into the mattress, his hardness giving friction where she most needed it.

He continued to give hits, varying his force and where his hand contacted her, and she tightened with every blow, until she was unabashedly screaming out each number and begging him to take her between them.

“Please!” she yelled, all thoughts of being heard by the Beast gone in the haze of the mingled pain and pleasure of the hits. She needed her prince, oh how she needed him, but he infuriatingly shifted her body so that she was unable to rub her aching pussy against anything. She whimpered as another blow landed on her sore arse, and screamed out her number.

“Oh please, please take me, I’ll do anything, just take me, make me yours,” she babbled out all in one breath, aroused to the point of incoherency. “Please just do what you will with me!”

He paused, and she heard a low chuckle. “Do what I will?”

She whimpered in agreement and he laughed again, landing another hit on her well-warmed bottom.

“But I already am, little beauty.”

His fingers dipped into the crease of her pussy and she let out a strangled noise and pushed back against his hand. He laughed again and withdrew his fingers.

“I’d say you like it too, isn’t that right, my little one?”

She was unable to answer as a series of several blows landed and she was reduced to hoarse panting as she screamed out the numbers.

After the fifteenth blow, he gently caressed her bottom for a moment.

“Oh, my good little beauty,” he panted, his breaths coming every bit as quick and staccato as her own. Molly could feel his arousal against her belly, and she breathlessly hoped he would bring them both some relief. He flipped her over in his lap though, and stood with her, turning to deposit her back on the bed.

“Reach into the bedside table and give me the jar that is there.”

Molly scrambled to do as he ordered, crawling awkwardly across the bed and feeling around until she found the cabinet’s latch. She reached inside and her hand closed on the cool earthen jar. She crawled back to him, sitting up on her knees to offer it to him, smiling slightly when she heard his sharp intake of breath as she assumed the position of supplication.

“Turn, present your bottom,” he said, taking the jar from her. She hesitated a moment, not understanding what he meant to do. “Don’t make me tell you again,” he said, and she scrambled to obey, turning on her knees and bending over to push her bottom up in the air as she rested her upper body on the mattress.

She heard the jar open, and after a moment, his hands were once again on her arse, rubbing a thick, cool cream into the sensitive skin that had been so abused by his harsh blows. She moaned and pushed her bum back into his touch and he chuckled lightly, stopping momentarily to get more cream from the jar.

After a while, she heard the sound of the jar closing again, and felt him rub his hands on the skirt of her dress. One long finger slowing traced a burning path up her inner thigh from her knee and she squirmed, hoping to urge him to touch her. Her brow furrowed when his touch left her skin and she flipped over, pulling her feet up the brace on the edge of the bed as she lifted her hips.

She was rewarded with an audible change in his breathing as her dress fell down her strong thighs to pool at her hips, no doubt letting him glimpse the dark curls at her sex. She could feel the coolness of the air on her wet pussy, and splayed her legs wantonly, hearing a low growl sound through the room. Her fuzzy head likened it to the beast and another rush of wetness coated her pussy even as surprise overtook her for her body’s response to the thought of her captor using her in this fashion.

“If you want me, then come here,” her prince’s low voice reverberated through the room.

The command was simple, and yet difficult for her to complete blindfolded. She wasn’t about to give up though. She slid off the bed, landing with a hard crack on her knees, and she winced. She heard him walking and then dragging something before silence settled over the room again.

“Come, little beauty. Crawl to me.”

She scampered forwards, following the sound of his voice and caught her hand on the sheepskin rug, falling headlong onto his bare feet. Strong hands gripped her, pulling her up into a kneeling position and gently checking her head for injury.

“All right?” he asked softly, and she nodded shyly.

“Good,” he breathed, and she felt him move closer to her, his feet next to her knees. She reached for them, and traced the bones there, before moving her hands painfully slowly up his legs, all the way to his hips, her palms pressed flat against the material of his breeches.

She ran her fingers lightly along the top of the breeches, across his taut belly, feeling him tighten at her touch. She teased him slightly, feeling his breathing change at her touch, quicken, heighten with anticipation.

His hands roughly pushed hers away after a moment, and she felt him push his breeches down, just enough to release his hard cock. In an instant, his hands buried themselves in her hair, pulling her lips to him. He didn’t force her to open for his cock, or to swirl her tongue around the head hungrily, or to tentatively raise her hands to graze her bollocks and wrap around the base of his shaft as she listened to his groans, learning what made him helpless with lust.

His hands tightened in her hair, and he groaned loudly.

“Put your hands on me here,” he said, dragging one of her hands up to grasp the back of his thigh. “Hold onto me, and if I hurt you, or you need me to stop, hit my leg, do you understand?”

Molly smiled smugly, forgetting he could see her.

“Yes, my prince.”

With another growl, he pushed back into her mouth and grasped her hair again, holding her to him, allowing him to thrust into her mouth. Molly moaned around his cock, sucking as best as she could as he ruthlessly used her. Even though she was the one on her knees, hearing him falling apart above her gave her a sense of power such as she had never felt. He finally gave a loud groan and spent himself in her mouth, and Molly barely blinked before swallowing. He tasted odd but she didn’t mind, as long as she could feel the power she held over him even as he controlled her.

She could hear him whispering above her, incoherent words in many languages, and squealed when he suddenly swooped down, hauling her to her feet then up to wrap her legs around her face as he pressed his lips to hers.

\---------------------------------

Sherlock’s mind was blissfully void of any thought besides the beautiful girl at his feet. His mind buzzed, and he realized he was mumbling praises for her in every language he knew, giving voice to his longing, his adoration, his devotion to her.

He pulled her up without even thinking about it, hungrily pressing his lips to hers, his tongue darting into her mouth to taste himself on her. It was intoxicating, and he had the sudden desire to taste her as well. Abruptly dropping to his knees with her still wrapped around him, Sherlock eagerly pushed her back against the floor, making sure that she was centered on the sheepskin, before hooking her legs over his shoulders and spreading her cunt as his lips closed on her.

Her back arched up off the floor as she made an obscene noise of desire, sending a jolt straight to Sherlock’s cock. If she kept that up, he would be hard again before he could even bring her pleasure. He pushed aside the images of her wrapped around his body as he thrust into her gorgeously soaked folds, knowing that he couldn’t yet take her in that way.

He lavished attention on her pussy, working her with his tongue and fingers, as she writhed and moaned above him, until she finally gave a hoarse cry of completion and went limp. They lay on the floor for another moment, both panting with in the affect effects of their mutual pleasure.

_Their lovemaking._

Sherlock sat bolt upright as the thought flitted through his brain and his eyes widened. Why had his mind chosen that particular wording? He stared down at the girl, terrified, and stood to bolt from the room but her soft voice stopped him.

“Stay with me?” she asked quietly, her tone betraying her expectation that he would refuse her. He wavered, looking between her limp body and his escape route before he finally exhaled loudly.

“I will stay with you until you fall asleep,” he said, leaning down to scoop her up and carrying her bridal style to the bed, tucking her into the covers before laying himself down on top of them, not trusting himself to be skin-to-skin with her.

He concentrated and the light went out, leaving the room in pitch black darkness, though he could still see easily.

“Hold still,” he said, reaching over to remove the blindfold from her face. He tossed it onto the bedside table and watched, fascinated, as she blearily rubbed at her brown eyes. “Put that on each night before I come,” he told her, and paused before continuing. “Wear that and nothing else.”

There was no longer any use pretending that he would be able to resist his desire for her, and after her pursuit of him, he was sure that she felt the same about him. He reached to wrap his arms around her and she sighed contentedly, wiggling closer to him as her breathing began to slow and her eyes drooped closed. Sherlock stayed long after she succumbed to sleep, pondering his feelings towards the small girl in his arms.

He was, after all, an addict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cool readers leave a review. Just sayin' ;)


	13. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to allthebellsinvenice for reading over this for me! It's not betaed however so any mistakes are mine. I hope you like it!

Sherlock hummed a little tune as he ducked into the open door of a rarely used room in the castle. He cursed quietly as he hit his shoulder on the frame of the door, still adjusting to his daytime form after the events of the night.

He’d held her until the wee hours of the morning, contemplating the changes he was experiencing at her hands. For it was undoubtedly her presence that was the catalyst for the awakening of his soul from the long period of dormant complacency and bitterness that followed his foolishness and subsequent punishment for said folly by way of the curse laid on his body.

Sherlock’s maid was occupied with these thoughts as he ran his fingers along a row of books that had gathered quite a bit of dust. The room he was currently in was entirely covered with that dust and had not been opened in many years. Under the decay though, were what were once opulent furnishings, rich fabrics, rare metals and jewels, and fine furniture. He frowned at the scene around him, memories flooding his mind.

“Hello?” came a timid voice from the door. He glanced over his shoulder and frowned again. The girl stood at the threshold of the room peering in, her clever gaze taking in the room and its contents. He could almost see the wheels of her mind churning with questions. He had told Mrs. Hudson to send Molly to him when she awoke, but hadn’t expected to see her so early. He had hoped to be finished with his current location before she arrived, but resigned himself to answering a few cursory questions about it.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, turning back to the bookshelf. He glanced at the titles, scanning them, before glancing back over his shoulder and motioning for Molly to join him.

“We are looking for a book. It will be bound in crimson with gold lettering on the front.”

He went back to searching and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Molly’s arm brush his as she joined him in the room, diligently looking through the volumes.

“It might help if you tell me the title of the work,” she murmured, looking at the multiple red books around them. She blew lightly on one and wrinkled her nose as the dust flew up around her, making her sneeze. Sherlock smiled broadly at the face she made, before catching himself and grimacing.

_Too familiar, Sherlock. Too familiar._

“Yes,” he responded, feigning an interest in a volume before him while secretly watching her out of the corner of his vision. “If I remember correctly, it will say something about incantations or binding.”

She chewed her lips as she processed his reply and nodded as she set to work again. Sherlock decided he’d rather watch her than look himself, so he turned and walked across the room to a dust covered lounge chair, and beat on it with his great paw, making Molly jump and squeak in surprise. He set himself down in it and looked at her expectantly.

“Do continue,” he said, the pleasant words betrayed by the authoritative tone of voice he used.

Molly nodded quickly, her cheeks heating up, and turned back to the books, leaving Sherlock to watch her. He caught the flush and his eyes narrowed even as his pride swelled that he could affect her even in the hideous form he currently occupied.

“What is this room?” Molly asked after a few moments of silence. She didn’t face him, but paused slightly in her perusal of the shelves.

“It was the room of a,” he paused, searching for the right word. “A guest,” he concluded. “A long-time guest.”

He hadn’t lied, not exactly, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. This room had seen many things, and held many secrets, none of which Sherlock ever wanted the innocent woman before him to know.

She would never love him if she found out what manner of monster he had been.

\---------------------------------

Molly’s gaze swept distractedly over the books in front of her. She was excited at the prospect of getting to see a real magic book up close, but her thoughts kept returning to the previous night. Not only to the feel of her prince’s strong arms around her as she fell asleep, but also the flash of arousal she had felt when the thought of her captor ordering her about crossed her mind. She was confused, and a bit worried at the direction her mind had taken her, having heard stories of people, women mostly, abducted from their homes and imprisoned or abused, who had then become attached to their captors and had fancied themselves in love with them.

She didn’t dare chance a peek behind her, as she could feel his eyes on her back, but her hands brushed across the spines of the volumes idly as she thought.

She wasn’t in love with her captor, that much she knew. She despised his arrogance and hated him for taking her from her life to satisfy a whim of his. Molly couldn’t deny, however, that she had begun to crave his commanding presence, and that she felt a dark urge to please him each and every time he gave her an order.

She shook her head slightly, as if to dislodge the thoughts from her mind, and forcibly reminded herself that her prince also commanded her, though in a very different way. She decided that she was confusing the manner of the two and that her real attraction was to the mysterious visitor she entertained each night.

Her conclusion did not keep her from continuing to search for the volume that the Beast had ordered her to find, and it didn’t stop the triumphant smile from breaking out on her face when she at last succeeded in accomplishing the task he’d set for her.

Molly grasped the thick book in her hands and turned to present it to the Beast, who she saw had sat up and was gazing at her intently. She flushed pink, and averted her gaze from his piercing one as she help the book out towards him.

“Bring it to me,” he growled lowly, and she swallowed before doing as he bid her.

“Good girl,” he murmured, as he took it from her and opened it to a page somewhere near the middle. Seeing her eager glance into it, he chuckled and turned it so that she could also see. Molly gasped in astonishment as the blank page suddenly seemed to grow words, for lack of a better explanation. To her dismay, the language was unknown to her, and she unwittingly frowned.

The Beast pointed back to the shelf, to a blue book near the top.

“You may take that one down for yourself, girl. It will show you simple spells, in a language that you speak.”

Molly eagerly pulled the book from its shelf and, true to the Beast’s word, the letters that formed before her were in the language of her village. She flipped through the book, enraptured, as the Beast searched through his own. They were both silent for several minutes, until finally, he looked up and closed his book.

“Come,” he commanded, rising to his feet. “Bring your book with you.”

To her surprise, he also extended his great paw to Molly where she sat on the floor near the chair he had occupied. She timidly reached out and grasped his large thumb area and allowed him to help her to her feet and meekly followed behind as he left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“You are to never come here without me, do you understand?” he asked severely, prompting Molly to nod seriously at him. Something in his tone brooked no argument and she did not feel that it was necessary to fight with him, not when he had been kind enough to allow her to have her own book.

\------------------------------------

Sherlock breathed a quiet sigh of relief as they left the room behind them. It felt, wrong, to have the girl in there. Somehow it seemed almost as if the very place could taint her purity and goodness. And that was something that Sherlock would not allow.

He pushed the surge of protective feelings into the back of his mind, into a rarely used place and locked the door on them, telling himself that she was his property, nothing more, and that he would feel the same about any of his other possessions.

It was a poor lie, but at least he was still fighting the strange feelings the girl was arousing within his cold heart.

He silently led her down the hall, his mind racing with things he wanted to say to her. They arrived at his private study and he opened the door hesitantly. The room was similar to the library, but more cluttered and more lived in. A large leather chair sat near the cold fireplace and a painting of a skull hung on the wall opposite. A Persian rug covered the stone floor and there were oddities scattered throughout the space, both on the floor and on the large wooden table.

Sherlock entered the room and sat down in the chair, opening his book once more, his heavy paws giving him trouble with the delicate pages. It wasn’t until he accidentally ripped one that he noticed just how close the girl was to his spot. A small hand hesitantly entered his field of vision and he watched, wide-eyed as she gently took the book from him and turned the page, handing it back to him with her gaze averted and bottom lip between her teeth. He could do nothing but stare for a moment, utterly stunned by her act of simple kindness. He finally cleared his throat, uttering a gruff thanks, before taking the volume from her slowly. She nodded once to him and settled, to his surprise, at his feet again, with her back leaning against one of the legs of his chair. He stared down at her, reveling in her proximity and marveling that she would want to be that close to him after all he’d done to her.

After a moment, Sherlock realized that she’d placed herself in the exact spot where it would be most convenient to reach up and turn the pages for him, and he smiled to himself. For more than an hour after that, the only sound was Sherlock’s small movement that indicated he was ready for a page turn and Molly’s small hand reaching up to complete the task for him.

\-------------------------------

Molly could barely focus on her book. She found it fascinating, and had already mastered a couple simple spells, just ones for shutting doors and that sort of thing, but still, she was excited.

Sherlock was engrossed in his book, and hadn’t needed his page turned in a while. She kept glancing up at him, but he seemed to be in his own world, oblivious to her presence. Molly was getting stiff, and decided to stand, and perhaps go in search of Mrs. Hudson, for some companionship.

She shifted and got to her feet slowly, stretching her sore muscles. Chancing a glance back at Sherlock, she saw that he hadn’t moved, nor even seemed to notice her departure. Molly clasped her book to her chest and slipped silently out of the room.

She wandered slowly down the halls, lost in thought. Her captor was a strange person indeed. One moment he was mean and threatening to her, the next he was allowing her to learn magic and helping her to her feet. Molly didn’t know what to make of him.

She was so deep in her thoughts, that she nearly knocked Mrs. Hudson down when she turned a corner.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Molly exclaimed, clutching the older woman’s arm. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Martha chuckled, brushing Molly’s attentions off.

“Oh of course I am dearie. It would take more than a little bump to hurt me! What a stroke of luck running into you, these are for you!” Mrs. Hudson said, moving aside to show Molly the object behind her.

Molly looked curiously at it, wondering what could possibly be meant for her, and her mouth popped open in surprise. The housekeeper was pulling a sort of trolley behind her, piled high with what appeared to be drapes and throws at first sight, but upon exanimation proved to be gorgeous dresses in all manners of expensive materials.

“Oh my!” Molly said, almost at a loss for words. “Where did they all…?”

“Oh Sherlock had me request them a couple of days ago. Can only imagine how many seamstresses they had working on them!” she exclaimed. “Those poor dears must have worked themselves nearly to death to get them ready so quickly.”

Molly nodded vaguely, her eyes still fixed on the large pile of clothes. She’d never seen such finery up close, and to think that they were all hers. She hoped they fit. Something niggled at the back of her mind, like something important that she had forgotten or that something wasn’t quite right, but she dismissed it.

“Here dearie,” Mrs. Hudson said, giving the handle of the trolley over to Molly. “You can take these the rest of the way to your room, can’t you? I’ve got to get back to my pies.”

Molly nodded again, and set off towards her quarters, dragging the heavy thing behind her. She finally made it to her room and spent the next several hours trying each and every dress on, marveling at their softness and the perfect fit of them all. There were even silken stockings to go with the finer ones. Even the thought of the Beast dressing her in anticipation of making her his bride could not dampen her happiness at the beauty.

\-------------------------------

“Here’s your luncheon, Sherlock,” said Mrs. Hudson cheerfully, as she pushed through the door, startling Sherlock from his study. He blinked for a moment, and looked towards the window, realizing that he’d lost several hours while engrossed in his book.

He stood, stretching, and walked to the window, something bothering him. As soon as he looked down onto the courtyard, he knew what it was.

“Mycroft,” he growled. “Where is he, Mrs. Hudson?”

When Martha looked at him blankly, Sherlock’s expression turned from annoyance to fear.

“Where is Molly?!” he shouted, running from the room, and heard Mrs. Hudson calling out that she was in her room.

\--------------------------------

Molly had finally settled on a dress, one of the simpler ones, and had just finished putting it on, when her door clicked open quietly. She turned to see whether it was Martha or Sherlock, and was surprised to see a tall man entering. He did not close the door behind him, but rather left it cracked. She turned, backing away from him, though the bed already divided them.

“Who are you?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

Her first thought, that it could be her prince, was squashed when she examined him. He was tall, and dressed immaculately, with a single ring on his long fingers. His face was impassive, features sharp, mouth a thin line that spoke of disapproval. His eyes flitted over her and she got the oddest feeling that he was picking apart her life from only what he saw before him.

He smiled coldly, and answered the question she had almost forgotten that she had asked.

“I am no one of consequence, Miss Hooper. You however, are quite intriguing. There are those who would call you a prisoner,” he said before raising his arm to make a broad gesture, referring to her room. “But I see an honored guest. Tell me, which is it?”

Molly stared at him in confusion, unable to answer his question.

“I do not find you unhappy, do I?” he continued, sauntering further into her room, and playing with the jar of cream that sat on her bedside table. Molly flushed and he smiled his serpentine smile at her again before sighing as if he was doing something he supremely hated to do.

“I’m here to slay the Beast and set you free, fair one,” he said, watching her intently. “You need only point me to him and I can ensure your freedom.”

He waited, sharp eyes piercing through her and Molly narrowed her eyes, not even thinking before she replied icily.

“There is no Beast here sir, save for yourself. Now go and leave me in peace.”

He smiled, though it brought no warmth to his eyes, and bowed slightly.

“As you wish.”

The man turned to go, and had almost reached the door when Molly heard a furious roar sound from down the hall, steadily approaching.

“It seems that you have overstayed your welcome sir,” she said sweetly, a smile breaking over her face. His expression was not one of fear when he glanced back at her, however.

“I am never welcome here, Miss Hooper.”

At that moment, Sherlock burst through the door, throwing himself into the space between Molly and her strange visitor.


	14. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my lovely, talented beta, allthebellsinvenice. If you aren't reading her stuff Idk what you are doing with your life.

Sherlock threw himself into the room, teeth bared and every muscle in his beastly frame tensed. The mysterious visitor barely reacted, doing nothing more than sigh heavily. He turned to face Sherlock smiled frostily as they eyed each other, a silent conversation taking place between the two. Finally, the man spoke.

“Hello brother.”

Molly would swear that at that moment, the world stood still. Not a bird dared chirp, not even the wind dared to rustle the leaves for fear of disturbing the intense battle of wills happening in front of her.

Sherlock finally straightened from his crouched position, one of defense, and towered over the man, taking a more offensive stance.

“What are you doing here, Mycroft?” he asked, his voice a threatening growl. “And why are you seeking out my… prisoner?”

Mycroft raised a brow, silently contesting Sherlock’s designation of Molly and Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at her.

“You are unharmed?” he inquired gently, and Molly nodded numbly back at him, her tense frame radiating the shock that she felt. Sherlock turned back to his brother who crossed his arms, tapping his fingers on his elbow.

“I merely wished to meet Miss Hooper, and see for myself what manner of fascination she could hold for you,” Mycroft said, and Molly barely caught the flash in his expression, giving away that his statement held a deeper meaning that she was not privy to.

“You are not welcome here,” Sherlock growled. “Leave now.”

Mycroft shook his head, his expression grave. “No Sherlock, you and I have things to discuss.” His tone brooked no argument, and he turned on his heel, stepping out of the door into the hallway. Sherlock followed more slowly, and turned to face her when he reached the doorway. He gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes luminous with remorse. Molly’s own eyes widened the moment she realized what was about to happen and threw herself at the opening, but it was too late, and the door was slammed in her face, seconds before she heard sound of the latch being thrown.

She paced the room for a long while, perhaps hours, though she was oblivious to the passage of time. She wondered what was happening, why the stranger was here, and above all, if Sherlock was safe.

Night fell and still she waited, her stomach growling. Neither Sherlock, nor her prince came to her, and Molly finally fell into an exhausted sleep on top of the covers of her bed.

\-------------------------------

“You know what will happen. Caring is not an advantage Sherlock.” Mycroft tipped back a glass of golden liquid as Sherlock stared pensively into the fireplace. “Though, she is quick to defend you. One would think that she already knew her nightly visitor was none other than yourself.”

It was late that night, and Mycroft sat facing away from the fire, so as not to catch a glimpse of Sherlock’s human form. Still, Sherlock’s ears turned red at his brother’s matter-of-fact deduction.

Through the evening, Mycroft had told Sherlock of the war. For a man in hiding, Mycroft amassed information with a skill that Sherlock was in awe of. He was a Prince of the Kingdom, but wielded his power behind the scenes, moving pieces of a chess board, the players unaware of the force behind them all. Sherlock both envied and loathed the way his older brother operated, manipulated, did anything necessary to get the desired outcome.

Sherlock, as much as he hated to admit it (and never would out loud,) had always been something of an idealist, a dragon slayer, going after those he deemed poisonous. The spiders among humanity who preyed on those who were different, extracting their secrets and using them to control their unwilling victim.

His brother had no interest in this, preferring to use his mental prowess and diplomatic skill to control the world from the comfort of the fireside. He hated doing the legwork, getting his own hands dirty. Often through the years, Mycroft had goaded Sherlock into doing the more involved bits of work for him, knowing that Sherlock could not resist a puzzle.

It would always be his downfall, Sherlock mused, his mind drifting back to past days as he stared, unseeing, into the dying fire.

\-----------------------------

_“Sherlock, you won’t be staying alone.”_

_Mycroft stood impassively gazing at his raging brother, barely old enough to grow facial hair, screaming and destroying his chambers in a fit of anger._

_“I should be going with you! You can’t keep me trapped here!” Sherlock yelled back at the older Prince. “I can do SOMETHING!”_

_“What you can do is stay here. You aren’t old enough or wise enough, you’d be killed before we even go to the battle,” Mycroft said, exasperation creeping into his tone. “You WILL stay here. That is final!”_

_He left, slamming the door behind him, as Sherlock fell to his knees, sobbing with impotent rage._

_\----_

_“My Prince?”_

_A sultry voice spoke from the doorway, hours later._

_“My Prince, come away from here. Your help has prepared food for you. Eat, drink, you must keep up your strength.”_

_Sherlock eyed the door warily, the figure still cloaked in shadow._

_“Who are you?” he asked._

_“I am Irene. Your brother sent for me. I am to… serve you, in whatever capacity you see fit.”_

_The woman stepped from the shadows and Sherlock sucked in a deep breath. She wore a sheer robe, fastened in the Grecian style, that did nothing to cover her feminine figure from his eyes. She knelt before him, her eyes downcast, but with a hint of a sultry smile on her scarlet lips._

_\----_

_“You are as brilliant as you are beautiful!” he praised, as she solved his puzzle. She glowed under his approval, turning her attention to yet another._

_Years had passed, and he had only grown more and more infatuated with her. Yet he gave her no respite from his selfish demands, never entertaining the thought of putting her above himself._

_\----_

_“You are here to serve ME!” Sherlock growled, forcing her to her knees. He could be rough with her, rougher than with a human girl, for her fairy body was tough, nearly indestructible, but oh so soft and pliant beneath his hands. She took him eagerly into her mouth, serving him with her body._

_\----_

_“Confide in me, my Prince,” she whispered, running her fingers through his unruly curls. “Let me share your burden.”_

_He sighed, burying his face between her breasts, and told her everything. Of the messengers from his brother, of the battle plan, of the secret weapon that would turn the tide._

_Of his worry._

_\----_

_“YOU BETRAYED ME!” he screamed, tears of anger and despair in his eyes. “You LIED to me!”_

_She fell at his feet, clasping desperately at his ankles._

_“Do not cast me out, you don’t know what he will do if he finds me! He did not win completely, not all is lost on your side! Oh please, do not cast me out, I won’t last six months! He’ll find me!”_

_“Leave. Me.” Sherlock kicked at her hands, before grabbing her shoulder and leading her to the door, his grip strong enough to break the bones of a mortal. He threw her onto the doorstep and turned to enter the castle once more. A cackling laugh stopped him and he looked back at Irene. She slowly rose from the ground to stand, no longer on her knees as she had been. Her face spoke of fury._

_“You silly man,” she taunted bitterly. “Did you think I was really interested in you? Did you think I was on my knees because you put me there? I would make you crawl, beg, scream, if it suited my purpose. It hurts you now, to know that as you used me, all these years, I was the one using you. But I cannot allow your treatment of me to stand.” She raised her wand and Sherlock stiffened, but refused to give her the satisfaction of retreating. “You WILL not toss me aside like some wench. I am fairy, I am powerful, and you WILL show me the deference I deserve, you miserable excuse for a royal!”_

_Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, but otherwise maintained his stony expression. She smiled, malice in her gaze._

_“Then I curse you, Prince Sherlock Holmes. Forevermore will you be as ugly as your soul to the world, only regaining your rightful form in the night when none can see you. None shall be allowed to gaze upon your true self or I will surely end their lives. Forever you shall be no more than a Beast, hiding here from the world! So be it!”_

_\---------------------------------_

Sherlock sighed heavily, coming out of his mind and back to the harsh realities of life.

It was nearly dawn, and the sky was lightening to that dull grey that precedes the sun’s warm rays.

“You cannot keep her here. Sentiment will be the death of you, brother.” Mycroft’s cold voice cut through the haze of early morning. “You cannot keep her a secret from the Woman. Not forever. The girl is not blind, nor is she stupid. She WILL figure you out, and in the end, you’ll have to let her go or let her die.”

“She won’t. I can keep my secrets, brother mine,” Sherlock replied bitterly, thinking of true nature of his relationship with the Woman, which he had successfully hidden from his brother for years. He turned to face the chair where Mycroft sat, his back still to the younger Prince.

“She didn’t question that we are brothers though I am a man and you are a Beast.” Sherlock growled at that but Mycroft continued, ignoring him. “She is far more stupid that you think, or she’s far more intelligent. Either way, you need to rethink your assumptions of her.”

Sherlock slumped, knowing that his brother spoke the truth. He turned his head to gaze out of the window. “Just, just a while more,” he whispered, speaking aloud, but more to himself than his brother. “I can keep her for a while more.”

Mycroft sighed heavily. “You are blinded by your affection for her, Sherlock. I did not think that you would succumb to those desires, so often I saw you hardly seem to realize when a woman spoke to you. But this will end badly. I sent her to you not with this in mind.”

Sherlock’s head shot up. “You what?!” he demanded, his voice rising in pitch.

“I set her in your path,” Mycroft repeated calmly. “I knew that she would fascinate you, though not to this degree or in this way. I have a task for you, one that may well turn the tide in this war. But you cannot do it alone. You have need of an assistant. Long ago I saw her, watched her love of science and eagerness to learn grow day by day. I waited, observed, until she was old enough, intelligent enough, to be put into your path, and then I lured her father with a few false words. Ordinary people are so foolish,” he said, and Sherlock could see his head shake over the back of the chair.

Sherlock was speechless, though not with anger, as he thought he should be. He was shocked, awed even, that his brother could predict him so well as to know exactly what would happen when he sent the girl’s father to the castle. His brow furrowed.

“And what is this task that you have for me? How can she help?” he questioned warily.

“Our men are dying of a mysterious illness, one that no one has seen in the past. It began years ago, not long after I went into hiding. After each of the battles, many of our soldiers are struck down with this disease. I need you to examine the bodies, find the cause, and discover a way to neutralize it. Should be an interesting diversion for you. The girl’s knowledge of anatomy should help you as well as her extra set of hands,” Mycroft answered matter-of-factly.

“And this illness, is it being transmitted through contact? I won’t have her harmed, Mycroft,” Sherlock warned.

“As far as we can tell, it is not. It is like nothing we have seen. I would venture to say that it is more magical than human. Some new curse of the Black Fairies perhaps.”

Sherlock nodded, understanding. His knowledge of magic went far beyond that of the average human, and it was only logical that his brother would bring the bodies to him.

“I’ll have several bodies delivered here tonight, so you can begin work,” Mycroft said, standing. He walked to the door, and stopped with his hand on the frame, giving a great sigh. “You cannot keep her, not for long, Sherlock. Harden your heart. Let her go. Or let her die.” He stood for a second longer, before disappearing out the door. Sherlock heard his horses minutes later, as Mycroft thundered through the gates, and back into battle.

\-----------------------

“Hoo hoo dearie,” Mrs. Hudson called through the door. Molly sat bolt upright in her bed, rubbing her eyes. She was still dressed in her clothes from the previous day and barely remembered laying down on the bed. A quick glance at the window told her that it was well past dawn and she marveled that she’d slept so long. The latch moved and Martha opened the door, and was nearly knocked over by Molly leaping from the bed and running to her.

“Mrs. Hudson!” she cried, desperate to know what had occurred since she was locked in the room. “What happened? That man, he-” She was cut off by Martha’s chuckle.

“Oh that Mycroft, always showing up and poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Honestly, family is all they have and yet they fight like wild dogs.”

“Is he, is Sherlock all right?” Molly asked tentatively.

“Oh of course dearie, Mycroft wouldn’t harm him, not really. He’s locked up in his wing of the castle though, and has given strict instructions that he is not to be bothered today. Mycroft is already gone, you’d think that man would at least stay for tea but no, off he goes. You are free to roam, Sherlock said, but that you are to keep away from his chambers.”

Molly stared at the housekeeper numbly, relief and confusion both washing through her. She followed Martha to the table, where the housekeeper was busily unloading food for her breakfast.

“Oh, this teacup is chipped, what a shame. I’ll just put it up with the other kettle, I hate to throw it out,” the older woman said conversationally. Molly nodded, humming in idle agreement, though she wasn’t really listening. Her mind was far away, wondering about the sudden appearance of her strange captor’s brother. Mrs. Hudson finished with the food and let herself out.

Molly picked up a strawberry and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. She had spent much of the night tossing and turning, her sleep marred by dreams that she could no longer remember. All that was left was a lingering cold feeling in her stomach. She decided that her fear and worry from the previous evening had robbed her of a restful night.

Molly scowled, looking out the window as she pondered her reaction to the stranger. She had been so quick to defend her captor from the impostor, when logic dictated that she should have jumped at the opportunity to be free of her prison. Her first instinct had been to protect the Beast who had taken her from her father, her life. She shook her head, unable to reason why she had reacted the way she had.

She gave up for the moment, and walked slowly to the other side of the room, choosing a new dress without really seeing it. Molly dressed and sat down to eat what she could, before setting out to wander through the castle, deep in thought.

\------------------------

Deep in his private chambers, Sherlock smiled to himself, as he examined an intricately made chain. It was silver in color, and thin, delicate, not unlike the woman he meant it for. In the very center, three small sapphires were woven into the metal, sparkling softly. It was a good length, meant to adorn a woman’s belly instead of her neck.

He sighed, playing idly with it, letting it catch on his clawed paws. He knew that the time was coming for him to let her go, but he was still selfish man, and wanted to have a piece of her for himself. And for her to always remember him.

He closed his eyes, a smirk playing at his lips as he envisioned it. Her soft, supple body under his hands as he explored her. His tongue at her center, tasting her desire for him. The hazed look of passion in her eyes when she finally looked upon him, a parting gift he would give her the night before he let her go. The jewelry she would wear, adorning her naked frame when he finally pushed into her, took her, body and soul. Two becoming one, if only for a short time.

Sherlock blinked and reached for his book, the one he’d had Molly find for him, opening it and skimming the pages. He nodded to himself, sure that he had found what he was searching for, and began the laborious task of infusing the delicate metal with magical properties required to ensure that when he sent her away, he would not be sending her with child, as long as she had worn it in the moment of their lovemaking.

He was a selfish man, but for her, he might just be a good one.


	15. Excursion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to miz-joely and allthebellsinvenice for reading over this though I did add a little after so any errors are totally mine.

Molly spent her morning wandering the halls of the castle. There were still many rooms that she had not seen, and she discovered all manner of fascinating things within the dusty rooms. In one of the rooms, which curiously held only a single chair, set in the center, a glimmer of light caught her eye and she peered under the chair to find an ornate necklace.

It was wide, made of gold and inlaid with all manner of precious stones and delicate swirls of metal with a large ruby center stone. Molly picked it up and wiped off the dust, sneezing as she did so. Examining it more closely, she decided that, while it _was_ beautiful, that the necklace with far too gaudy for her. She slipped it into her pocket, resolving to give it to the Beast when she saw him again, as it was likely worth a small fortune and he would probably appreciate having it back. As she walked, she kept her hand in her pocket, idly toying with the jewelry. She didn’t notice when the ruby in the center began to glow dimly.

\--------------------------

She ended up in the atrium where she’d gone with Sherlock that very first day. The sun was high in the sky, flooding the room with light and warmth. Molly strolled slowly through the paths lined with flowers deep in her thoughts, reaching out every now and then to absentmindedly stroke the soft petals of a vibrant blossom.

_“Hello brother.”_

Molly’s brow furrowed as that one phrase ate at her. Brother. How could that be? How was it that a man could be the sibling of a Beast? And why had Sherlock then shut her away in her room, shut her out of the following conversation, especially when there seemed to be such animosity between the two? She blew out a long breath and sat down in a small clearing within the plants, mindful to stay on the stone path and not drag her new dress through the soil. The heavy necklace in her pocket poked her leg and she pulled it out, laying it just to the side of her in the soil.

“Molly.”

She jumped and looked up at the sound of his voice, the gravelly tone sending shivers up her spine. She hadn’t heard him approach, and she was amazed at his ability to move so quietly for such a large being. Molly made to get up, then stopped, a bright smile breaking out across her face.

“That is the first time you have used my name,” she said, getting to her feet. “Thank you.”

The Beast silently stared at her for a moment and she began to wish that she hadn’t pointed it out.

“You’re, yes well, you’re welcome,” he finally replied, rather gruffly. “I, have a favor to ask of you.”

Molly cocked her head to the side and examined him. If she didn’t know any better she would have called him nervous, as he shifted his weight and clasped his great paws together in front of him.

“A favor?” she echoed, wondering that he did not simply order her to do whatever he desired.

“Yes, I would like, that is, I was hoping that, well that you would let me have a strand of your hair.”

“My hair?” She grabbed her long braid and held it tightly. “Why do you want my hair?”

“I don’t want all of it!” Sherlock defended himself. “Just a strand or two.”

She stared at him in confusion and he huffed.

“Oh all right,” he grunted, moving closer to her and plopping to the ground, patting the space beside him. “Sit.”

Her brow furrowed but she did as she was told. Sherlock pointed to a large blossom near his head and leaned back so she could see it clearly.

“What do you see? How many colors?”

She examined it closely, and answered, “Just one, only red. It’s a red flower.”

He nodded, looking back at her. “Yes, it is red. But I don’t see only one color. To me, this blossom is fire, so many lively colors all dancing about, rushing through the petals, it’s alive and vibrant with color. I see them all, not just the ones that humans see. There are more, more than you can possibly dream of.”

He turned to face her, and tentatively reached out, delicately picking up her long braid that hung over her shoulder, and pulled it up see that she could see it in front of her.

“Now tell me,” he said, his voice slightly breathless. “What color is your hair?”

Molly’s heart thudded in her chest as she stared at Sherlock, not even looking at the braid he held gingerly in his paw.

“Brown, it’s, it’s brown,” she replied, equally breathless.

He shook his head, smiling slightly. “No, it’s honey and ginger and amber and chocolate, woven together with the rays of the evening sun.” He dropped her braid back to her shoulder, and moved a stray piece that had fallen across her face, ever so gently tucking it behind her ear, careful of his claws. “I’d very much like to have a strand or two, to examine under my microscope. I’d like to see if I can name all the colors in it.”

Molly nodded numbly at him, and looked down to her lap, twisting her hands together as a blush covered her cheeks. “Umm I suppose that would be all right,” she whispered, afraid to trust her ability to speak without the words cracking.

“Good,” he murmured, as softly as he could with his rough voice.

They sat there in silence for a moment before he shifted, and got to his feet. He held out one strong arm for her and she clasped his hand, letting him pull her to her feet as well. He didn’t let go of her, instead beginning to pull her towards the door and out into the hall.

“Come on, we need to go now if we hope to be back before dusk.”

“Where are we going?” Molly asked, confused.

Sherlock looked back at her, and grinned, his canine-like teeth glimmering in the relative dark of the corridor they traversed.

“Out.”

The necklace was forgotten in her haste to follow him.

\-----------------------------------

Sherlock cast a worried glance up at the sky. It was getting closer to sunset and they still hadn’t found what he was looking for. He’d taken Molly outside, out of the gates and into the woods, to procure a certain fungus he needed for the experiments they would be running on the bodies Mycroft was having delivered.

The petite woman trotted along behind him, occasionally attempting to engage him in conversation, but Sherlock had never been one to talk much when he was on a mission. He grunted one word answers and she eventually gave up. He was annoyed by his earlier display of affection for her, knowing that even though he felt very deeply for her that they could not be and that it was cruel of him to show any such feelings for her.

A happy shout roused him from his thoughts and he looked down the hill to a small creek, seeing Molly lift several mushrooms up in the air for him to see. He smiled and started down the slope. A movement to his left caught his eye though and he looked down the creek a little way, his eyes widening as he saw several men in uniform making their way up the bank towards Molly and himself.

The men hadn’t noticed them yet, and Sherlock threw himself down the steep hill to get to Molly. He reached her side in seconds, grabbing her around the waist.

“Put them in the bag,” he said, motioning to the mushrooms she held. “We have to go. Now.”

She looked at him, puzzled, but did as she was told. He pulled her to the side, ducking behind a large clump of bushes a few feet from them.

“Soldiers,” he whispered, putting a finger to his lips when she opened her mouth. “Soldiers and they aren’t on our side.” He cursed inwardly, knowing what would happen should the men discover his and Molly’s hiding spot. The army that opposed his brother had slaughtered thousands, defiled woman, forced children into slavery, all manner of evil things. Sherlock held Molly close to him, the thought of any man touching her, hurting her, making his heart rate soar and his hands shake with barely contained fury. He had to keep them away from her, but there were at least a half dozen and he wasn’t sure if even with his exceptional strength, that he would be able to dispose of them all before they overwhelmed him.

“They must have caught word that Mycroft was here. Idiots.” He managed a low chuckle. “He’s probably halfway to the sea by now. They’ll never catch him, he’s far too smart for them.”

They cowered there for a long moment, as Sherlock frantically wondered how he was going to get them out. A thought occurred to him, and he straightened suddenly.

“Listen carefully,” he whispered into Molly’s ear. “I’m going to distract them, send them the wrong direction.”

“How will you do that?” she asked, her voice trembling as she whispered. He felt a surge of warmth in his chest as she clutched at his arm, obviously fearing that he was going to run off and do something reckless. He smiled over her head, keeping his eyes on his enemy.

“I know a spell, one that allows me to make it sound as if my voice is coming from somewhere else. I’m going to project my voice and hopefully they will take the bait and go running off after it.”

She nodded and Sherlock took a deep breath, praying he would get it right and that they would react the way he hoped.

_“Et mandavero et praecepero a longe clamor.”_

He whispered the words and smiled in relief as his voice sounded off in the distance. Even better, it sounded as if it was the opposite direction from the castle. His grasp of the spell was mediocre at best, and he made a metal note to practice more if they made it out of the situation. Sherlock peered through the bushes and watched intently as the soldiers glanced around nervously. He whispered the words again and grinned as the men scattered, running off in the direction of the noises. He waited until he was sure they were gone and sighed heavily. Sherlock stood and held his paw out to the girl to help her up. She smiled weakly at him, glancing fearfully over his shoulder. He gently turned her face back to him.

“Nothing will hurt you while you are with me, I swear to you. I will protect you with my life if necessary.”

She stared up at him, brow furrowed. He frowned at his sentimental outburst and abruptly dropped his hand, berating himself for the lapse in judgment. He couldn’t continue letting her see the depth of feeling he had for her. Otherwise, he’d never let her leave and it was imperative that she do so. Sherlock knew that it wasn’t safe for her to remain with him indefinitely, and even though it would break him to send her away, the least he could do was ensure that it wouldn’t break her as well.

Turning, Sherlock took off up the hill, back towards the castle. He periodically whispered the spell again, hoping to keep the soldiers headed away from them. It was getting very late, and he was nearly running to get back home before the transformation took place. The girl _was_ running, unable to keep up with his long strides at a walking pace. As they came into view of the castle, she finally had to stop, unable to catch her breath.

“Sherlock, wait,” she cried out and he stopped dead, whirling on her.

“You do NOT call me by that name girl! As far as you are concerned, my name is ‘sir’ or ‘master.’ Nothing else, do you understand me?!” He took a deep breath, realizing that he was shouting at her. She stared at him wide-eyed and confused. Sherlock frowned, angry with himself for daring to develop something as messy as feelings for her. With his brother’s words against sentiment echoing in his mind, he turned on his heel and strode into the castle gates, not bothering to check if she followed.


	16. Sensation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to allthebellsinvenice and mizjoely for looking over this for me. Hope you like it.

Molly went to her wing of the castle immediately, anxious to wash away the grime and filth of their trek through the woods and subsequent run back to the safety of the castle. Her confusion at her host’s swinging moods had turned to fury at the way he treated her, with deference and affection one moment, anger and condescension the next. She threw open the doors to her wardrobe and pulled fresh clothes from within.

Her jaw was still tight with anger as she stalked from her chambers to the bathing room, clothes in hand. Molly stripped quickly, letting her clothes drop to the cold stone in an untidy pile before sinking into the water, which was pleasantly warm. She sighed heavily, leaning against the side of the pool, letting her tense muscles relax. Her thoughts drifted lazily, finally settling on her nightly visitor. He hadn’t come to her the previous night, and Molly found herself wondering why. He hadn’t missed a night since the first, and yet, he missed the very same night that Sherlock’s brother had come to the castle. Something was bothering her, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but Molly got the feeling that she was missing vital information.

Thinking of her prince had an effect on Molly though. Her body tensed again as she remembered his clever fingers on her, his tongue pressing into her pussy, his moans and sighs when he reached his peak. She bit her lip and trailed her hand down her body, imagining that he was touching her again. Her fingers slid easily into her pussy, already wet with her arousal, even in the water of the bathing pool. She clumsily rubbed her clit, imitating what he had done to her, but quickly grew frustrated as she was unable to capture the excitement she felt with his hands on her.

A thought came to her, and she climbed out of the pool, not bothering to dry herself, and scampered to her room, hoping that she wouldn’t run into Mrs. Hudson while nude. She snatched the blindfold her prince had left for her and hurried back to the bathing room, material in hand. She climbed back into the water and tied the blindfold around her head, hoping that it would feel more like her encounters with the mysterious prince. She began to touch herself again, slowly, methodically, just as he had done, but still felt somehow bereft without his fingers on her. The sound of a door clicking shut startled her and she quickly reached up to pull away the mask when a voice stopped her.

“Oh no, no. Don’t stop on my account.” There was humor in his voice, and she could tell even without seeing him that he was smiling. Molly froze upon hearing his words.

“How did you know I was in here?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It was only logical,” he responded, closer to her position in the pool. “You weren’t in your room and you were _filthy_ when you came in from traipsing around the woods with the Beast.” He stopped and chuckled, his finger trailing along Molly’s neck and up to her blindfold, making her jump at the unexpected contact. “How fortunate that you were, what, imitating me?” He laughed again.

Molly was silent, unable to offer a rebuttal. He had caught her in the midst of doing just that and she had no other reasonable purpose for wearing the blindfold while in the water.

“It wasn’t the same,” she finally said. “I tried, but it wasn’t the same as your hands on me.”

She heard him suck in a sharp breath, and marveled at the effect her words had apparently had on him.

“Well my little beauty,” he growled. “Shall I touch you?”

\------------------------------

Sherlock crouched on the side of the bathing pool, drinking the sight of Molly’s nude form, shining with droplets of water in the moonlight.

“Yes please,” she whispered, and his eyes darkened with lust. Standing, he made short work of his breeches, the only clothing he wore. He climbed carefully into the pool, and immediately pulled her into his embrace, reveling in the feel of her skin against his. He stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her against his front, his rapidly hardening erection against her arse. She sighed and wiggled against him and he smiled down at her, pressing a light kiss to the nape of her neck.

He wasn’t ready to present her with the jewelry he was crafting for her, so as much as he wanted to drag her from the pool and bury his cock in her welcoming heat, he restrained himself. An idea came to him though and he slid one hand down to her cunt, rubbing light circles around her clit. Her breath came quicker and she spread her legs the tiniest bit. After a moment, he trailed a single finger of the other hand along the crack of her arse, making her shiver and instinctively move away from his hand. He held her firmly though, and pressed his finger against her smallest opening, delighting in her gasp.

“You must tell me if you hurt in any way. Give me your word so I know that you understand.”

“ _Occhiolino,_ ” she whispered, her voice uncertain.

“Again,” he said, pressing his finger against her a second time.

She paused, and he held still, his finger against her opening, but not pushing further. “ _Occhiolino._ ” This time, her voice was stronger and he felt her relax a bit. As much as he wanted to take her immediately, Sherlock knew that it would hurt her greatly if he were to do so. With that in mind, he took her into his arms, lifting her easily. He carefully climbed out of the pool, and stood her on her feet. He picked up a soft piece of cloth and began drying her methodically. He let his hands linger on her pert breasts, worrying the rosy nipples into hard little peaks before taking each in turn into his mouth, enjoying the gasp of pleasure she gave. He finished drying her and dried himself quickly, before picking her up again and carrying her from the room, back to her own chambers. Depositing her on the bed gently, Sherlock found the small jar of cream they had used before and scooped up a generous amount, coating two fingers in it.

He climbed into the bed with her and lay behind her, both on their sides.

“Your word,” he whispered, dipping one finger into her agonizingly slowly.

“ _Occhiolino_ , just, just please, don’t hurt me.”

Sherlock stopped and caught her face in his clean hand, turning it towards his to capture her lips in a passionate kiss. When he pulled back he searched her face for any hesitation.

“This shouldn’t hurt you little one. It might feel strange, different, perhaps even a bit like you are doing something that you oughtn’t.” He paused, watching her again. “But it should not hurt you. I will go slowly, and make sure that you are ready for me. You must tell me immediately if you feel any real pain, do you understand?”

She nodded, breathing out heavily. “Yes, yes.”

He let her turn to face front again and he slipped his hand back down to her arse, as he pressed kisses to every inch of skin he could reach from his position. Gradually, the tight ring of muscle gave way to his insistent fingers, and he was able to work first one, then two inside her. Sherlock pressed his hard cock against her back as he pumped his fingers into her, widening them bit by bit. She was cooing, pressing back onto his fingers, her breathing heavier.

“Still feel good, my love?” he asked.

“Yes, oh please, yes,” she panted, pushing against him. “Take me please.”

“Not yet,” he replied, smiling at her eagerness. He had been a bit afraid that she would not allow him to touch her in that way, but she had quickly warmed up to the idea. He pulled her top leg up and over his hips, spreading her wide for him. “Touch yourself,” he commanded, and her hand went readily to her drenched pussy.

He pulled his fingers from her, and coated them with more cream before slowly, steadily pressing three into her. She stiffened for a moment and he stopped his advancement, waiting for her to relax. She finally did and he continued, pumping his fingers in and out of her. When he deemed she was ready at last, he pulled his hands away, scooping up more cream and liberally coating his cock with it. He reached down to grab the cloth from the bathing pool to wipe his fingers off.

“Ready?” he asked, the head of his cock pressing against her opening. She nodded, and whispered her word and he guided himself into her, reining in his impatience to go as gently as he possibly could. He couldn’t abide the thought of hurting her, and so was almost too cautious, as she became irritated with his slow pace, and pushed back against him, wincing as he stretched her. She didn’t stop though and soon he was fully seated within her.

“Your word?” he managed, between clenched teeth. She was so tight and warm around his cock that he half feared losing himself right then and there.

She turned, seeking his mouth though she couldn’t see him, and he obliged her, kissing her deeply.

“ _Occhiolino_ ,” Molly whispered, and Sherlock grinned.

\-----------------------------

It was strange, the feeling of fullness, of violation, that she experienced when he entered her. Molly was conflicted, on the one hand, feeling as if she should be scandalized by the act. The other part of her whispered that she loved it. Her body was alight with pleasure, each tiny movement from him sending waves of ecstasy rippling through her. She sought out his mouth again, feeling him begin to move slowly against her, one of his large hands coming to grip her breast, kneading it as he broke the kiss to rest his head against her neck as he breathed heavily.

He hiked her leg up further onto his hips and moved faster as her body adjusted to the intrusion and Molly’s hand drifted back down to her pussy, rubbing soft circles around her clit. The pressure was building within her, and she moaned. He moved against her, their bodies finding an unhurried rhythm. The tenderness he showed her was at odds with the base filthiness of the act. Molly smiled, musing through her pleasure that her prince was a contradiction and that it was no wonder that even when sharing his body with her, he still managed to be one.

Suddenly, he withdrew from her and she felt him rise from the bed. She whimpered, bereft, and reached out for him, not understanding why he had moved. A deep chuckle pierced the darkness and his hands came to rest of her hips.

“I’m not leaving you, my sweet. Turn, on your hands and knees, and present your delicious little bottom to me.”

She blushed, and did as he demanded, noting the submission in the pose. She knew by now that he thrived on it, as much as she thrilled when he gave her a command. She wiggled her bottom at him and he pulled her to the edge of the bed before she heard the jar of cream open again. Then his cock was pressing into her and she forgot everything but the feel of him inside her, the way he moved, pushing into her and pulling her hips back towards him, the erotic sound of the hips meeting over and over.

She moaned loudly, helplessly reaching for more sensation, her body on the edge of ecstasy. He leaned over her, his clever fingers pinching her nipples and massaging her breasts. She came with a shout, her face pressed into the bed, muffling the sounds of her pleasure. His hand sunk into her hair, pulling carefully at the long strands as his pace increased, his own moans growing louder as he approached his peak.

“Yes,” she moaned out. “Yes please my prince. Give me everything. I want to feel it inside me!” She could barely believe the words falling so naturally and heedlessly from her lips, but it seemed to work him into a frenzy, as he slammed into her, shouting her name as he peaked, filling her with his seed.

They were still for a moment, catching their breath, before he pulled out of her, both of them wincing, tender from the passionate intercourse. He crawled into the bed next to her and covered them both with the cover. Molly was taken by surprise when he took her into his arms, lazily pressing kisses to her body as he praised her. He whispered for her to close her eyes and removed her blindfold, ensuring that she could not turn to see him even had she wanted to do so. Soon, the warmth of his body and the deep tones of his voice lulled her to sleep.

\---------------------

Sherlock lay with her until the wee hours of the morning, reveling in the softness of her small form pressed against his. He held her close, disregarding the ache in his arms, knowing that he would not have many more chances to do so. He dedicated the time to storing away each part of her in his mind, from her scent to her softness of her smooth skin, and the silk of her hair.

Finally, he rose with a sigh, and made his way out of the room, heading to his chambers to dress and then down to where Mycroft’s men would undoubtedly be unloading the bodies he needed to examine. The sound of a bird’s wings startled him and Sherlock looked up quickly, just in time to see a raven fly through the great entryway of the castle and through an open window. He frowned and continued on to begin his work.


	17. Awareness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks much to mizjoely and allthebellsinvenice for looking over this for me and to Lisa for always being my cheerleader. :)

“Molly dear, yoo hoo!”

Molly cracked open an eye before scampering to cover herself as Mrs. Hudson backed into the room, holding a tray of fruits, breads and cheeses for Molly’s breakfast. It was barely past dawn, and Molly rubbed her eyes wearily, the events of the previous night taking their toll on her sore body. She stretched out her aching muscles under the coverlet, groaning softly as bones popped.

“He’s in a right mood this morning dearie, wants you down in his laboratory as soon as you’re up and dressed. I insisted that you eat something, that man, we’d all starve if we only ate when he was hungry.” Martha shook her head and tsked, fussing about the room gathering dirty clothes and straightening objects.

“His laboratory?” Molly asked from the safety of the bed. “Where is that?”

“Oh, it’s just down the stairs from the atrium,” Martha answered cheerily. She finished her self-appointed clean-up and headed towards the door. “I wouldn’t keep him waiting,” she said, pausing with her hand on the frame, giving Molly a curious glance, no doubt because she hadn’t risen from the bed. “He’s in a frightful state today and wanted you right away.”

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson,” Molly answered dutifully, nodding solemnly at the housekeeper as she departed, closing the door behind her. Molly breathed a sigh of relief, and threw the covers back, wincing as her nude form was exposed to the chilly morning air. She jumped out of bed, tiptoeing over to the wardrobe, rubbing her hands briskly over her skin which had broken out with chill bumps. Pulling a sensible dress from her selection, she shimmied into it and fashioned a quick braid from her long tresses. She smiled as her fingers worked through the locks, remembering Sherlock’s fascination with her hair and the colors in it.

A quick bite to eat, and Molly was hurrying down the hall, smoothing her dress down as she went. She glanced into the open door of the atrium, before darting down the stairs just on the other side of it, slowing as she entered the brightly lit room at the bottom.

\--------------------------

He heard her long before he saw her. Every sense went on hyper alert the second he heard her light-hearted step on the stair, and he berated himself internally for allowing sentiment to bury itself so deep in his soul. Sherlock knew their parting would be the most painful thing he would ever do, ever go through. He steeled himself for her entry and busied his shaking hands with the body before him.

“You summoned me?” Her voice was like music to his ears and he frowned at the flutter he felt in his chest.

“Yes, I need you to be my hands.”

She paused in the doorway and stared at him. He knew he must be a sight, elbows deep in the chest cavity of a corpse, fur matted with blood, cracked bones laying on the table next to him along with his tools. He suddenly wondered if it was such a good idea to call for her.

A deep breath, and Molly walked slowly into the room, her eyes fixed on the body before him. “What is this?” she asked lowly.

“My brother,” Sherlock explained, resisting the urge to make a joke and say bother instead. “There have been a number of inexplicable deaths in the war always occurring after battles and he wants me to try to determine a cause and possibly find a cure.”

He looked up just in time to catch a slight spark in Molly’s eyes, before she glanced away quickly. He cocked his head to the side, wondering what caused the odd look she’d given him. When she turned back however, it was gone, and she wore a bright smile.

“So you need me to help you dissect these bodies?” she asked shyly, twirling her fingers together.

Sherlock grinned, his fangs peeping out from under his lips. “Yes Molly, I do. My hands,” he lifted his hug paws in demonstration, “well, they aren’t the best for delicate tasks. You’re, this is all right with you, isn’t it?” he finished, shrugging almost helplessly.

“Oh yes!” she all but shouted, before flushing red. “I mean, yes, I will help you however I can,” she said, calming her voice.

Sherlock smiled again. “Good. Now first, I need you to go to the atrium and get me the big red flowers from where we sat yesterday. Five or six should do,” he said, his brow furrowing in thought. “Yes, that should be enough. Take the little knife there,” he pointed to the table, “and cut the blooms from the stalks. We’ll use them later.”

Molly nodded, and snatched up the knife, take the stairs back to the above level two at a time, humming a happy tune. Sherlock watched her go, his gaze lingering on the stairs for several moments after she was gone, until he finally turned his attention back to his work.

\---------------------------

Molly skipped into the atrium, excited about the prospect of getting to examine an actual body. She chided herself that she should have more respect for the dead, but then reasoned that she did respect the poor soul, and was actually doing him a service helping to uncover the cause of his untimely demise. With a firm nod, Molly set off to retrieve the beautiful red flowers she’d seen the previous day.

She picked up a basket on her way to the section where the blooms grew and dropped each blossom into it one by one as she cut them. She finished, opting to gather six just in case, and bent down to pick up the basket. Just as her fingers closed around the handle, Molly noticed a red glint from beneath a large green leaf. She reached out and her hand closed around the necklace she’d lost the previous day. She smiled at it, intending to return it to Sherlock, but her eyes widened when she pulled it from under the plant.

There, in the center of the large gemstone, was the face of a woman.

She was beautiful, her face flawless, but her eyes were icy and her lips were curled into a cruel, mocking smile. An odd fear settled in Molly’s stomach and she stared intently at the face, mesmerized. She stood, still clutching it in her hand, her eyes fixed on the woman inside. As soon as she began to move though, the woman seemed to recognize it and vanished, leaving the stone much as it was, except that it was no longer clear, but cloudy looking.

Molly frowned at it, and dropped it into the basket with the flowers, intent upon asking Sherlock if he knew anything about it.

\------------------------

Sherlock looked up as Molly stepped back into the room. “Get them?” he asked, holding out his bloody paw for the basket she held. She handed it over silently and he gave her a curious look. “Something bothering you?” he asked, sticking his hand blindly into the basket.

“Well,” Molly began, just as Sherlock’s paw brushed the necklace that lay in the bottom of the basket. He jumped back as it bitten, holding his paw to his chest, a cold ache spreading through it. Molly jumped as well, startled by his reaction. “I’m sorry!” she gasped out. “Are you all right?”

Sherlock stared wide-eyed at the innocent looking necklace and then at Molly. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, it… it caught on my fur and pulled it. I’m fine now. Where did you find that?” He shook off the reaction, determined not to appear shaken in front of Molly.

“I found it yesterday in one of the old rooms. I thought perhaps you might have lost it so I was going to return it to you but then I forgot about it when we left the atrium. I found it again just now when I was gathering the flowers.” She was quiet for a moment. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock responded quickly. “Nothing, just a necklace, why do you ask?”

Molly watched him suspiciously for a moment, before slowly replying, “Well when I picked it up just now, I thought I saw a woman in the center jewel.”

Sherlock’s heart sank, an ugly feeling of despair pooling in his stomach. “Did you, uhm, did you pick it up with your bare hands?” he asked, his voice rougher than before.

“Yes?” Molly answered him, her voice curious. “Was I not supposed to?”

Sherlock shook his head at her and pointed to a basin nearby filled with fresh water. “Scrub your hands. You shouldn’t pick up things without knowledge of their properties,” he said as she turned to obey him. “That one, that one could give you a nasty reaction,” he murmured, more to himself than her.

\------------------------------

Molly watched Sherlock carefully as he returned to his work, occasionally asking her to perform a delicate action that he couldn’t. He talked nearly endlessly as he worked, pointing out various body parts and the damage done to them. Molly eventually forgot about her suspicions in favor of a whole-hearted fascination with the anatomy before her.

She cheerfully helped Sherlock as he exposed yet more of his brilliance, his leaps of reasoning leaving Molly astounded and the slightest bit aroused by the show of intelligence. She tamped down the flare in her gut, focusing on his words and learning everything he was willing to teach her.

After a long while, Sherlock sat back, his brow furrowed. “I can’t find anything. It’s obviously magic, but what kind?”

Molly slowly walked around to the various bodies, five in all, and frowned as an idea came to her. “Do you have way to perhaps test for an alien presence in the body? Perhaps an element or chemical of some sort?” She pointed to an arm. “It seems as if the very blood in their veins boiled,” she said, trailing a finger along the tracks of burnt flesh. “Perhaps there is a clue in their blood.”

Sherlock leapt to his feet, a wide grin on his face as he rushed towards her. “Molly you’re brilliant!” he exclaimed, lifting her off of her feet to twirl her around. “Of course!”

His hand hovered over one of the bodies and he muttered to himself before calling out to Molly. “Bring me a glass, they’re by the wall,” he exclaimed.

Molly hastened to obey and hurried back, glass in hand just in time to see Sherlock grin triumphantly as droplets of blood seemed to be sucked from the body to hover in midair, more joining them as each second passed. He reach out with his other hand and Molly placed the glass in it and he held it under the floating pool of blood and stopped chanting. The liquid fell immediately, straight into the glass and Molly giggled at the look of pride on Sherlock’s face.

“Glad I remember that one,” he said, winking at her. “Now to test it. I think I know what is inside it but just to be certain, I’ll examine it.” He turned to place to glass on the counter. “It’s getting late. Go clean up and meet me in a while for dinner.”

Molly beamed at him and left the room, excited and happy, all remembrance of the odd necklace and Sherlock’s even odder reaction to it fading from her mind.

\-------------------------------

_The raven. I should have known, THE RAVEN!_

Sherlock angrily slammed the door to his chambers, finally daring to let loose the anguished sob he’d been holding in since he’d realized that he’d have to send Molly away much sooner than he’d anticipated.

_She always did have a penchant for black birds. Dramatic._

He’d finished the tests and formulated an antidote to be administered to the troops. It was simple really, after Molly’s suggestion had pointed him in the right direction. Child’s play.

He held the necklace grasped in one enormous paw, squeezing it as if he could shatter it with merely the force of his sorrow. She knew now, knew that Molly was there at his castle. It was only a matter of time before she came to wreak havoc on them both. But Sherlock was determined that Molly would be gone without a trace by the time The Woman paid him a visit. He sniffed, fighting his urge to break down. Caring was not an advantage and he cursed himself for opening his soul up to such pain and misery.

\-------------------------------

Molly skipped into the dining hall, a bright smile on her face. She’d had more fun that day than she could remember in her life. After leaving Sherlock, she’d bathed, blushing hotly in memory of the previous night, then dressed herself with care, discarding the dress she’d worn throughout the day. She chose a nicer dress, running her hands over the soft, expensive material with awe. After dressing, she wound her hair up and pinned it in place. Smiling at herself in the looking glass, she made her way to the dining hall, grinning childishly at her bare feet beneath the rich gown.

She entered before Sherlock and seated herself just as Martha walked in with a platter of food.

“Oh! Don’t you look pretty?” she cooed at Molly, who blushed.

“Can I help you?” she said, getting to her feet, but Mrs. Hudson pushed her back down in the chair firmly.

“No, no, I can manage. I’ve got a bad hip but I’m not dead yet. You enjoy your dinner.” She winked at Molly and disappeared back into the kitchen. Molly smiled and smoothed her dress as she waited for Sherlock.

\--------------------------

He stopped dead in the doorway. She was beautiful. The midnight blue velvet of the dress accentuated her ivory skin, contrasting against it beautifully, highlighting her scattered freckles and the red tints of her hair. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she took in his stunned expression and she stood, doing a small twirl behind her chair.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, smiling. “Thank you.”

Sherlock cleared his throat slightly. “Uhm, yes well. Your clothes were hardly suitable,” he replied gruffly, before entering the room fully and pulling her chair back again for her to sit. She did, and he seated himself, inexplicably nervous. Maybe because of her elegance, maybe because of his growing affection for her, or maybe because he knew that this was most likely the last night they would share.

That last thought doused his good humor and he scowled at a serving dish. Mrs. Hudson walked back in at that moment carrying the last of the food and clucked happily at the two.

“Oh don’t you both look so sweet there together!” she said.

“Kindly do try not to bore us with your inane prattle,” Sherlock snapped at her. “You’ll be going to town on the morrow. Pack a heavy bag.” Sherlock watched as Martha paled and left the room without a word. He’d known she’d understand what he meant by that, that she needed to be gone for several days to avoid being caught in the middle of something dreadful.

He turned his attention back to Molly who was delicately placing food on her plate. When she’d finished her own, she took Sherlock’s without prompting and began to pile food on it. Sherlock smiled slightly as she did so, and inclined his head to her when she’d finished and set it before him.

“Thank you little one,” he rumbled.

Molly froze, staring at him. “What did you say to me?” she asked quietly, her tone deadly sharp.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed for a mere second before he realized what he’d said and his eyes widened as Molly’s expression turned stormy.


	18. Heaven (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait. Hope you enjoy.

Sherlock’s face dropped as he realized exactly what he’d said. Before he realized what was about to happen, Molly threw herself at him, knocking his chair back. Both of them sprawled to the floor with her on top of him, temporarily knocking the breath from his lungs.

“You! You utter arse!” she cried, beating his chest with her fists. His heart clenched when her words came out in a sob. “I _knew_ it! It was _you_! All this time it was you! You lied to me!!” He lay perfectly still as she hit him, flailing about madly, exerting her energy and anger on his body. It didn’t hurt, not nearly as much as inside of his chest did, knowing now beyond a shadow of a doubt that both she’d discovered his secret and that the secret of her presence had been discovered. He’d hoped to have more time, even a few days more with her, but now, Sherlock knew that his time had run out.

“You _used_ me!” Molly accused, her brow furrowing in pain. She clung to him, still hitting him over and over, but seemingly unwilling to actually distance herself from him. That thought encouraged Sherlock and he reached up, grabbing her wrists gently but firmly in his large paws, holding back her onslaught. “Don’t touch me!” she shouted angrily.

“Give me your word then,” he challenged. Molly was silent, staring at him with reproach, but Sherlock merely chuckled. “I thought not. I did _not_ use you,” he assured her. “Everything we are, everything between us, in both of my bodies, I swear to you that it was genuine.”

Molly abruptly stopped her attack and stared down at him, tears in her eyes. “Then why did you lie to me?” The heartbreak in her voice was a dagger to his recently discovered soul, and he sat up, holding her to him, brushing the hair out of her face gently.

“I couldn’t tell you,” he said softly. “It’s part of it. I can’t directly talk about it.”

She sighed heavily and frowned. “I knew,” she whispered. “I saw it, but I didn’t believe it. How could I?”

Sherlock held her tightly and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “I wanted to tell you, so many times. But I couldn’t. I still can’t.”

Molly pulled back, searching his face. “But now that I know? What will happen?”

Sherlock grinned widely, “Nothing, nothing will happen,” he lied. “You’re my brilliant little one, and you figured it out on your own so nothing will happen.” He plastered on a pleased expression, desperately wanting to keep the truth from her. Her eyes narrowed, and Sherlock braced himself for her refusal to accept his assurances.

Just as Molly opened her mouth though, Sherlock felt a lightning bolt of pain run down his spine.

_Oh no. Oh god no._

He glanced to the window and saw twilight, before letting out a defeated sigh. He hadn’t meant to let her see, but in the confusion of her discovering his secret, had forgotten to watch the sun’s descent.

And now, it was far too late to stop it.

He stiffened and Molly sat back, confused, just as the first crack of a bone was heard. Sherlock screamed, and Molly jumped to her feet, a hand pressed to her mouth in horror as the first bone breaking was rapidly followed by others, the sounds of the snapping drowned out by Sherlock’s shouts of agony. He was dimly aware that Molly did not run, or indeed, make any move at all other than to stand well away, her back to the fireplace. He couldn’t see her facial expression, the light behind her casting her small form in an almost ethereal glow.

_Sentimental drivel,_ he heard in Mycroft’s voice, between agonizing crunches and shifts of his bones. He lay on his side, curled in on himself, hands pressed to his abdomen, sharp breaths and moans of pain replacing the screeching as the alteration neared its end. He lay panting on the floor, for several minutes, his heavy intakes of precious oxygen the only noises in the silent room. Slowly, carefully, Sherlock sat up, holding his tattered trousers to him, and looked at Molly.

\------------------------

She’d once laughed at him for his description of himself. Never had she wished more that she could take something back. Now she could see him, her prince, the man who’d taken her over and over, made her dizzy with pleasure so many times. She could _finally_ see him. Her eyes roved over his form, bathed in the dimming light from the fireplace behind her. He was everything she’d imaged, and so much more. To know that someone so exquisite, so beautiful, had desired her made her giddy with joy.

She licked her lips slowly as she took in his lean frame, the tattered remains of his clothes hanging off of his body. He was still much larger than she, and even though she’d felt him before, on her, in her, she hadn’t been able to conjure a facsimile of his actual size in her mind.

Speaking of size…

Sherlock had been calmly watching her from his position on the floor, his breathing growing slower as he came down from the tremendous high caused by the excruciating pain of the transformation. Now, as Molly blushed lightly, he grinned cockily, looking pointedly down to his torn trousers were the outline of his cock was visible, having seen that her eyes were drawn to that particular part of his anatomy. Her stood and slowly, steadily, approached Molly, walking a circle around her as she stood perfectly still.

“Hello, little one.”

Molly gasped audibly and a low chuckle rumbled from Sherlock’s chest in response.

“Yes, my prince?” she breathed.

Molly’s tongue darted out to wet her lips, almost tasting the tension in the air and the heat of their bodies. The moment stretched out, both of them unwilling to break the spell that bound them to each other and to the intoxicating pull of their desire for each other. Molly whimpered softly, and Sherlock’s eyes sharpened, a flash crossing the thin ring of blue iris.

Before she could even draw another breath, he was on her, hands on her body, pushing her down to her hands and knees on the floor in front of the dying fire, rucking her skirt up to her waist, and burying his face into her cunt with a groan of satisfaction. Molly shrieked at the suddenness of his hot, wet mouth on her, his tongue thrusting into her pussy, tasting her as his hands wrapped around her upper thighs, hauling her back against him. Her mind was alight with stimulation; the smooth velvet almost rough against her hypersensitive skin, the rustling of the material as it dragged across the rug beneath her with every push and pull of Sherlock’s hands on her hips, their ragged pants cutting through the still room, the wet smack of his full lips as they pulled on her clit, the moans escaping her only to be buried in the rug below her face as she ground her cunt into him, begging for more with her movements. She wanted more, _needed_ more of him.

“S-Sherlock,” she panted, wanting to beg him to take his cock out and mark her, claim her as his own just as he had done in every way but the one she so desired. He plunged two fingers into her soaked pussy and she convulsed, crying out his name into the floor as he worked her through her orgasm, thrusting his fingers into her with enthusiasm.

As she sank limply to the ground, Sherlock withdrew his fingers, but ran his hand across her dripping cunt, making Molly twitch with aftershocks. She closed her eyes, but they popped open again after only a second when she heard the unmistakable sound of Sherlock pleasuring himself. She rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows, her half-closed eyes filled with lust as she took in the sight of Sherlock on his knees, his cock in his fist, hand pumping, head back, eyes closed and mouth slack.

Molly crawled up quietly, watching him fucking his hand, his hips bucking as he neared his own peak. Just as he moaned softly, Molly ducked down and pulled his hand away, replacing it with her mouth. Sherlock groaned, his hands cupping the back of her head, mindful of the pins in her hair, and thrust into her mouth gently. She hummed her approval and swirled her tongue around the head before taking him deeper. She wrapped one tiny hand around the base to ensure that he couldn’t hurt her and relaxed her mouth, letting him push into her over and over. It wasn’t long before Sherlock lost control and with several hard thrusts, he came, moaning out her name as he spilled into her mouth.

She swallowed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, beaming up at him proudly from her knees. Sherlock’s fingers rubbed lightly across her head, and she leaned into him, her eyes closing contentedly. After he caught his breath, he pulled on her gently, urging her to her feet. Pulling her close, his kissed her passionately, his tongue delving into her mouth, tasting himself in her and knowing that she was doing the same. His hands worked through her hair, pulling out the pins and discarding them, letting her long locks fall loose. He broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closed, breathing in the same air as she.

“Come my little one,” he whispered. “I have something for you.”

\--------------------------------

Sherlock closed the door behind them and waved an arm around.

“These are my chambers,” he said, rather unnecessarily. Of course she knew what lay behind the large doors, but she’d never been permitted inside. He turned his back to her and let her explore as he picked up the chain he’d so painstakingly crafted for her, his heart in his throat. Sherlock turned back to face Molly, hiding the jewelry behind his back, and held out his free hand to her, leading her through the rooms to his bed. He cleared his throat nervously and Molly’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as she seated herself on the edge.

“Molly,” he began, fiddling with the chain behind his back. He took a deep breath and knelt before her, looking up into her face. “I uhm, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but we haven’t, I mean I haven’t, I mean…” He trailed off, unsure of how to word his explanation. Molly’s small hand cupping his jaw brought his eyes back to her face, and she smiled down at him. Sherlock took another deep breath. “I’ve been hesitant to take you, uhm, in the traditional way, because I didn’t want you to become pregnant.” His brow furrowed and he babbled on, his focus to the side, unable to look directly at her. “Not that I would mind, I mean I would, but I wouldn’t mind children, your children that is, I mean I just didn’t want to do anything that you wouldn’t want…”

He stuttered to a stop, sheepishly looking up at her, his heart clenching as he thought, for the first time really, about a child, their child. The one that he knew could never exist. It would be cruel to leave her with his seed, to abandon her with a life growing in her belly. As much as he wanted to see her stomach stretched, bursting with a child of their making, he couldn’t do that. Not like this. So Sherlock sighed and held up the chain, the moonlight and candles dancing across the metal, making the sapphire gemstones sparkle and glow.

“I made you this. It’s enchanted, with uhm, a protection charm. As long as you wear it, it will be impossible for you to fall pregnant. Will you? Wear it, I mean?”

_Will you let me make love to you?_

\-------------------------

Now she understood.

Molly had wondered, briefly, why Sherlock hadn’t taken her in the traditional manner yet. Her heart glowed within her to think that he’d refrained, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was more concerned for her and for himself. She smiled happily at him and nodded, both in thanks and in assent. Sherlock’s responding grin was brilliant, lighting up his face with joy. He got to his feet and grasped her hand in his, pulling her up. She turned and swept her hair to the side, allowing him to get at the row of buttons down her back.

Molly shivered at the light brushes of Sherlock’s fingers against her spine as he deftly unfastened each button, taking his time, dropping a light kiss to each inch of skin uncovered. Somehow, it was so much more intimate than it had been before. Maybe it was the fact that she could see him, the desire in his eyes when he looked at her, the parting of his plush lips as his breathing quickened, the faint blush that heated his pale skin as he pulled the gown from her body slowly. Or perhaps it was knowing that even with all the things they had experienced together, that now, they were going to be joined together in the most intimate way possible.

Molly swallowed thickly as Sherlock pulled the dress down, allowing her to step out of it. He picked it up, carefully laying it across a nearby chair, before coming back to her and kneeling at her feet, the chain in his hands. She stared down at him, mesmerized while Sherlock explored the soft flesh of her belly and hips with his fingertips, noting each and every place that made her shiver and squirm with want. His own desire was evident, his ragged trousers tented as he knelt before her, but Sherlock seemed to want to take his time. He finally abandoned his explorations and clasped the exquisite piece of jewelry around her waist, admiring it with a fond smile.

“Turn,” he whispered. “Let me see it sparkle.”

Molly spun slowly in place, sensually swaying her hips so that the gemstones caught the light from the moon and glittered in the dimness of the room. Sherlock stood and gathered her in his arms when she’d stopped turning, his hands slipping around her waist to haul her against him. His fingered the delicate chain as he kissed her, his tongue slipping into her mouth, thoroughly tasting her. When the need to breath arose, he wasted no time, ducking his head down to catch one of Molly’s nipples between his teeth. She gasped, her hands going to tangle in his curls, holding him to her breast as he sucked and nipped at them, leaving mark after mark, teasing her to the brink of pain before switching to the other side.

“Mine,” he murmured against her flesh, one arm possessively wrapped around her waist, the other tangled in her long locks, pulling her head back and body closer to his.

“My prince,” Molly gasped out as he bit down particularly hard on her sensitive flesh. That seemed to spur him into action and she was flat on her back in his sumptuous bed almost before she could take another breath. Sherlock stripped off his clothes hurriedly and stood before her, a light blush coloring his cheeks. Molly realized that he was wondering what she thought of him, now that she could finally see, and smiled, holding her hand out for him to join her on the bed.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered to him as he covered her body with his own, moving against her, only the thin material of her undergarments between them.

Molly gasped, feeling him grind against her, hot and heavy, their breaths becoming more labored as their hips moved together. Her underclothes were rapidly developing a wet spot from a combination of their arousal. Sherlock sat back on his heels, and Molly whimpered softly, her cunt aching for more contact. He gently pulled away the last of her clothing and gazed at her, blatantly admiring her body.

“You are simply exquisite,” Sherlock mumbled as he lay against her once again, his mouth buried in the crook of her neck, busily sucking a dark mark into the ivory skin there. He reached down, gripping his prick with one hand, and rubbed the head along Molly’s wet slit, paying special attention to her clit. He settled between her legs, pushing against her, his cock sliding through the warm wetness of her cunt over and over, driving her to the edge without even entering her.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream and her back bowed as she clutched Sherlock to her, feverishly rubbing her body against his as she fell over the edge. She felt him reach down and press his cock, wet with her juices, to her entrance.

“This will hurt, my love,” she heard him murmur. He pressed into her as her orgasm waned, slowly but steadily pushing his way into her body. Molly stiffened, and Sherlock grunted, turning her head to him so that he could capture her lips in a heated kiss as he stilled within her. It hurt, he had been right, but it wasn’t the agony that she’d heard described by the gossipy women at the market, speaking in hushed voices of the latest maid to scandalize herself. It burned, but the sensation was dissipating rapidly, replaced by the indescribable fullness of his cock in her cunt.

“Sherlock,” she moaned, drawing out the word as he pulled back, ever so slowly, and grinned down at her.

\----------------------------------

She felt so good. So sweet and tight and wet around his prick that he had to take a couple deep breaths to ensure that he wouldn’t embarrass himself. He smiled down at her as he moved, gently at first so that he didn’t hurt her. Sherlock wanted to be absolutely sure that she would have only fond memories of their time together, no matter what came after.

Molly’s eyes fluttered closed, and Sherlock felt her begin to push against him, matching his thrusts with her own, their hips connecting over and over. He gathered her close to him, attacking her throat with his lips and teeth, their pants and moans echoing off the walls. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, and slipped a hand between their bodies, rubbing light circles on her pussy, matching the rhythm of their hips. He was rewarded moments later with a tightening of Molly’s body as she came, her cunt squeezing his prick, a low moan rising in volume as she clutched him to her, shaking and convulsing in ecstasy. Sherlock watched her through heavy lids, his whole body on fire with the mind-numbing pleasure of it all.

Suddenly he realized, everything that would come after, all the pain, all the suffering they would both go through when they were parted, it was all worth it. He’d walk through fire just to have this one moment of pure and complete joy and love.

With that last rational thought, Sherlock thrust hard into her, spilling inside his girl with a shout of her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	19. Heaven (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lookie, an update! Sorry about the long wait. Gearing up for the end of the fic!
> 
> As always, a big thanks to allthebellsinvenice for the beta work! Love you.

Molly panted quietly, her head on Sherlock’s bare chest.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he murmured after a moment, so lowly that she felt more than heard it in the vibrations rumbling through his chest.

“Why?” Molly replied, stifling a yawn. Sherlock sat up, forcing her to do so as well, and caught her chin in his hand, turning her face towards his as he pressed a demanding kiss to her lips. When the need for air broke them apart, he scooted towards the edge of the bed.

“I have something to show you first.”

“Can’t it wait?” she whined, attempting to lay back down in the warm bed. Sherlock grinned in spite of himself, but it faded quickly.

_No, it can’t. There won’t be another chance._

He shook off his melancholy thoughts. “This is our first night together my love, I want to make it memorable,” he said, smirking at her as Molly raised a brow, questioning him silently. “Come, it’s a surprise.”

He stood and went to his wardrobe, digging far into it to find clothes that would fit him in his human state. It had been a long time since he’d worn clothes that befit his station in this form. He pulled out fitted breeches and a plain shirt, and proceeded to dress himself. He glanced up and saw Molly was frozen in place, watching him with heavy lidded eyes. Sherlock smirked at her and finished dressing, feeling only slightly uncomfortable in the finery after so many years without using it.

“Pick up your dress,” he ordered. “Get dressed, but leave off the undergarments. Do not remove your chain. Ever.”

Molly smiled and scurried to obey, pulling on the gown. Sherlock stepped closer to help her button it running his fingers over her soft skin. Stepping aside to grab a singular looking box, he held it to his chest with one arm. He took her hand in his free one and pressed a kiss to the back, before leading her out of his quarters and to a part of the palace that had been closed off for many, many years. As they walked, Sherlock attempted to ignore the low rumbling of thunder too far in the distance for Molly to hear, perfectly clear to his keen hearing, but a weight settled in his chest as the sound.

\-------------------------------

“Oh…” Molly breathed as Sherlock led her into a cavernous ballroom. He gave her a cocky grin and then concentrated, his gaze above them on an enormous chandelier. A moment later, the thousands of candles all around the hall burst into flame, filling the room with a haunting light.

Sherlock let go of Molly long enough to set the box down on the floor and open it, pulling out a stringed instrument. He sauntered a few paces from Molly then turned and held the instrument to his chin and pulled the bow across the strings. An eerie melody flowed from his fingers and Molly closed her eyes, letting herself be caught up in the song. It was unlike anything she’d heard, sounding almost angry and harsh at first, then fading into a lilting, happy tune. The last portion felt almost as if it hurt, and Molly opened her eyes, watching Sherlock with a concerned expression. He finally finished and set the instrument back in its box.

Smiling fondly at her, Sherlock held his hand out to Molly, inviting her to join him. He whispered some words to the air, and the room was filled with the sound of his song. Without a word, he wrapped her in his arms and began to sway to the music. They twirled around the dance floor and Molly closed her eyes, allowing herself to envision the room filled with laughter and song, the empty floor packed with gaily dressed dancers whirling about the ballroom.

She opened her eyes as Sherlock began humming along with the music. His movement slowed until they were merely swaying back and forth and Molly allowed her eyes to close again. This time, her mind wandered back to his words concerning her role in the castle.

Had he meant what he said about making her his mistress? Did he actually think of her in that way?

She envisioned the dancers again, this time with herself and Sherlock whirling through the bodies, hands and bodies clasped together, diamonds glittering in their hair, a thin diadem setting them apart from the others. Tears pricked her closed eyes as she pictured them, together for always. The force of her desire pulled at her soul as they danced. She hoped that he wanted to never be parted as much as she did.

The song came to an end and they stilled, neither wanting to break the quiet perfection of their embrace. Finally Sherlock drew a deep breath and stepped back, once again holding his hand out to Molly.

\----------------------------------

A bolt of lightning lit up the night sky and Molly jumped in surprise, then tugged Sherlock over to take a look.

“Oh,” she breathed, peering out of one of the massive windows at the boiling clouds above, lit up by the occasional flash. “It’s going to storm. Odd, it was a beautiful day.”

Sherlock nodded, his lips pursed thoughtfully as he too gazed out into the black. The storm was coming more quickly than he anticipated and he didn’t like not being able to predict the movements of his opponent.

“I love storms,” Molly sighed wistfully. “Father used to get onto me for dancing in the rain. I would be drenched, without shoes, splashing in the puddles like a child.” She smiled fondly.

Sherlock smiled too, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. Molly was too busy looking up at the sky to notice though, and he recovered himself before she turned to smile at him, one dimple denting her smooth cheek.

“Well it certainly looks like we are going to get one,” he remarked, before tugging her away from the room and out into the hall.

“I’ve got something else to show you.” He was suddenly excited again, pulling her along behind him, her shorter legs almost unable to keep up with him. He realized his mistake when Molly tripped, but luckily he caught her before she fell.

\--------------------------------------

Sherlock led her into a cozy room, furnished sumptuously and sparkling clean, lit only by the low light from a grand stone fireplace. There were things scattered about, fancies of an adolescent boy. A magnifying glass next to a set of perfectly preserved insects, kept in glass containers. Books tossed about, she recognized a set of Da Vinci’s anatomical drawings and smothered a smile. Molly turned and raised a brow at him in question.

“Before you ask, no I don’t come here often. But I just… well I couldn’t let it fall into disrepair. I spent a lot of time here as a child, reading, practicing rudimentary magic, studying… avoiding my brother.” He fell onto a low couch that was wide enough to almost be a bed, pulling her down with him.

Molly grinned. “Seems like you did a lot of that when you were younger.”

Sherlock joined in with a hearty laugh. “What do you mean ‘when I was younger’? I’m still doing it!”

Molly giggled, remembering Sherlock’s older brother. “I can’t say I blame you,” she said, smiling up at him as he tucked her under his arm, her head resting on his chest as she looked at him.

“When I was little, I would come here for peace. I used to pretend that the clock would have conversations with that particularly large candlestick over there. The candlestick was forever cracking jokes and the clock absolutely hated it. I think I modeled them after myself and my brother actually. Can you imagine Mycroft as an animate clock?” Sherlock chuckled. “I think I’d call him Cogsworth.”

Molly snickered. “If he was the clock then you were the candlestick so I wouldn’t laugh quite so hard if I were you. You could be called Lumiere!”

Sherlock frowned down at her good-naturedly. “Change the subject, now.”

Another flash of lightning lit up the room, and Sherlock’s gaze darted to the window as he scowled. Molly’s brow furrowed, and she propped herself up on her arm to get a better look at his expression.

“Do you not like storms?” she asked.

Sherlock seemed to debate his answer for a moment before replying.

“I don’t like the destruction that comes with them,” he said finally. Before Molly could question him further, he scooped her up into his lap, turning her to straddle his hips as he lay on his back. “Now, little one, I think that is enough talk for one night. I have need of you again, are you well?”

It took her a moment to catch onto his meaning and when she did, Molly blushed crimson. She squirmed a bit on his lap, nodding shyly.

“Yes, I am well.” He made no move to touch her though and she paused. “Master,” she added.

Sherlock smiled up at her before sitting up to reach around and undo the row of buttons at her back one by one, trailing kiss along her collarbones and up her neck to ghost along the lines of her jaw and the corner of her mouth. It was slow, languid, even more so than in his bed, and Molly wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers tangled in his dark curls, as she gasped each time his mouth pressed against her skin.

Gradually, the kisses became more urgent, Sherlock nipping her skin with his teeth, sucking more dark marks into the ivory flesh of her neck. He pulled her dress down, off of her shoulders, past her elbows until she could slip her hands out and reach above her head for him to pull the heavy fabric free of her body completely. His lips were back on her skin just after, his touch demanding, hands shaking as they traced patterns into her flesh.

\--------------------------------

_Princess. Mine. Wife. Soulmate. Love of my life. Mine. Mine. Mine._

Sherlock’s fingers skated across Molly’s skin and he reveled in the soft warmth of her. His heart ached with the pain of marking her with his words, his vain hopes and dreams for them, for a future that did not exist. He hid his face in the cleft of her neck, breathing in her scent, wrenching a semblance of control over his emotions, for her, only for her. Every piece of him wanted to fall apart, to scream and rage at the injustice of the world to part them so soon after their love was realized, but he held on, grounded himself in her warmth, in her presence.

Sherlock caught her around the waist, and turned them, slowly lowering Molly to the bed. Her long hair fanned out against the deep emerald velvet of the lounger, her dark eyes mesmerizing him. He sat up on his knees and pulled off his own clothing, throwing it aside without a second thought, his whole attention focused on his woman.

And then he was there, covering her with his body, peppering her face with kisses as he ground his hips into her, relishing the low moans and gasps he pulled from her with his attentions. He pushed into her slowly, holding her close to him, whispering his love for her into her ear and hiding the tears in his eyes as she returned his endearments. Sherlock made love to her, a slow, deep burn, drawing ever closer to the edge until they fell over it together, clutching each other with such fierceness that he was sure that he’d never forget the feel of her.

He kept her there, wrapped in his embrace until she drifted off into sleep, as he watched the storm with sad eyes.

\----------------------------------

Dawn came without the sun, and took a dozing Sherlock by surprise. He jumped involuntarily as the first tremors shook his lean body and Molly sat up, blinkingly owlishly at him, confusion written on her sleepy face. The single thought that this would be the only time he’d ever wake up to her presence crossed his mind just before the transformation began in earnest.

He let out an inhuman shriek of pain, and Molly scrambled back on her hands, falling off the couch to half hide under a nearby table, her eyes like saucers. Sherlock sat up quickly, doubling over at the waist, his head between his knees and fists clenched into his gut. Liquid fire burned through his veins, searing him from the inside out and he screamed again, feeling that familiar sensation of his insides being torn apart and remolded. So many years, so many times, and yet, he would swear on everything he held dear to him (which was precious little and mostly Molly) that this transformation was the most painful of them all. He fell back, back bowed off of the couch, his body twitching and shaking with the unbearable pain of it all.

In the next instant, he felt cool hands on his overheated flesh, Molly’s soft voice surrounding him, comforting him as his body changed before her.

\----------------------------------

Molly swallowed hard, and ran her hands over Sherlock’s chest as he screamed. His body was hot, burning, so much so that Molly flinched, certain that her hands were scorched. Her eyes widened as she glanced at her palms, only to see them rapidly turning black. She stared in horror as the skin settled into the inky shade, as dark as the storm raging outside.

Sherlock screamed again, convulsing on the couch and Molly forgot herself and instantly reached to calm him again. His skin was quickly cooling under the fur that had appeared and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he gradually quieted and lay panting, eyes closed. She curled up next to him and waited for him, grateful for his warmth against the chill of early morning.

A low growl a few minutes later signified Sherlock’s return to control of himself. Molly looked up to see him studying her, head turned.

“May I have that strand of your hair now?” he asked in a low voice and Molly’s brow furrowed at the odd question.

“That’s what you are thinking about right now?” she replied incredulously.

He nodded and she gave a slight shrug, and reached up, pulling three long strands from her thick hair. She silently handed them to him and he stood, crossing the room to deposit them carefully on top of a prone hand mirror. He then gathered up a blanket from another chair and returned to wrap it around her shoulders.

“Let me see your hands,” he said, kneeling in front of her to turn her palms over in his huge ones. He growled low in his chest and ran a claw across one in a gentle attempt to scrape the color from her skin. It didn’t work and he sighed heavily, bringing each palm to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to each in turn. He dropped her hands afterwards, backing away from her a little, the tired slant in his shoulders obvious.

“What caused it?” Molly asked, examining her palms curiously. “I thought it was a burn at first but the skin isn’t red and it doesn’t hurt anymore.” She clapped her hands together to test for pain and found none.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock replied. His eyes darted once more to the window where the rain had begun to beat forcefully against the glass. “I don’t like not knowing.”

Molly made to step towards him but he moved back and put his hands up a bit, making her stop.

“Go dress yourself,” he murmured, and turned, exiting the room silently, leaving Molly to stare after him in confusion.


	20. Shattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed and the product of no sleep and a raging sinus infection. Enjoy.

The sky was darkening by the minute and Sherlock glowered up at it.

_She’s toying with me. Letting the anticipation build. Pathetic. But useful._

He turned from the window, heart heavy as he stood in the otherwise empty room. He’d chosen the ballroom for his task. It was large enough to have space around them and that was all he really needed. He walked slowly in a circle, muttering words to himself, dropping flowers to the ground.

Not just any flowers, no. Not just any flower would do for the task he’d set for himself. His precious roses. The same ones that Molly’s father had been foolish enough to pick. The ones his mother had blessed to never wilt nor fade until their line was broken.

He smiled slowly, a single claw swiping against the soft petals of a white blossom, before he dropped it to the floor. He thanked the fates again for his mother’s willingness to teach him of magic from the time he was a child. She was a fairy herself, though it was only spoken of in hushed whispers, the shame of a fairy marrying a human one that time could not wash away. She’d especially loved the magic in flowers. She’d taught Sherlock many trivial spells using various blossoms but this one, this was by far the most difficult… and the most useful.

_If you ever need to escape, remember: make your circle strong and true. Whisper your words and close your eyes. If you are sending someone, don’t look at them, or it’s possible they will end up in the wrong location. One day you will need this. I don’t know when or why but you will._

Sherlock cursed the sky and continued his round, saturating the ground with petals that faded into the floor almost instantly. Only the full blossoms remained untouched to lie on the floor and mark the circle to the untrained eye.

\----------------------

Molly awoke with a start, glancing about wildly as she got her bearings. Her room was the same as it always was, her clean clothes draped over her bed where she’d SWORN she’d only lie down for a moment.

There was no way of telling how long she’d been there, the storm had abated while she slept but the sky seemed to be boiling, clouds turning over themselves to cover the land in a grey gloom. She hurriedly dressed, unable to wipe the happy smile from her face as she thought of her night with Sherlock. Her outlook for the future was high. Even if they couldn’t find a way to break his curse, (as she had secretly hoped would happen when she saw him transform the first time) Molly knew that she would stay with her prince for the rest of her days. She couldn’t imagine not being by his side now and she knew that she loved him.

She resolved to tell him so, whether he said it back or not.

\-----------------------

Sherlock stood, staring at his creation, invisible to someone who didn’t practice magic, and faint to him as he wasn’t fully of the fairy blood, only half.

He growled softly as the sky rumbled and resumed his pacing, both hoping that Molly came soon, and wishing with all his heart that she didn’t.

\-------------------------

Molly ran down the stairs, her bare feet pounding against the soft rugs covering the floor. She laughed as she slipped and righted herself, a smile stretched across her small mouth. The storm rumbled again and a bolt of lightning flashed through the sky, giving her a momentary pause. Molly frowned and went to one of the huge windows, slowly, padding silently through the carpet, to look up at the sky, to _really_ look for the first time.

Something about the rolling black clouds was wrong. Very wrong.

She turned and fled in the direction of the ballroom.

\---------------------------

“Sherlock! What’s-” She faltered to a stop, her eyes flitting between Sherlock and the floor. “What’s this?” she asked, her voice low and halting.

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, dumbstruck. He gathered his wits and pointed at the floor.

“You see this?” he inquired, amazed. When Molly nodded, he continued. “Tell me what you see.”

“I see a circle, a perfect circle, with roses at eight points and the points intersect in the middle. But they are in the ground. Almost like they are painted there but that is impossible because they are glowing, brightly. Very brightly, it hurts my eyes.”

Sherlock gaped at her.

“Molly, this circle barely glows for me and I made it.”

“Is that strange?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

Sherlock declined to answer.

“Stand in the middle of it please, where the points from the flowers intersect,” he said, gesturing to the circle.

“Sherlock, what is going on?” she asked, warily looking down to the floor then back up to him, eyes narrowed against the bright light.

“Molly, please, just… just do it. For me.”

“Sherlock, tell me. You’re scaring me.”

Sherlock sighed, a sadness in his eyes.

“I will, just stand there.”

Molly reluctantly moved to the center of the circle and stood with her hands clasped in front of her.

“All right I’m here. What now?”

“Now I tell you a story.”

“Sherlock-”

“Please Molly, it’s important.” Molly subsided and did as he asked, clasping her hands in front of her, twisting her fingers in worry.

“Once upon a time, there were a good king and queen. They loved their kingdom and sought to protect it. Their children, two sons, were vain and cruel, judging themselves to be superior to other humans due to their vast intellect. The older brother was duty bound to take up the mantle when the king and queen perished,” he faltered. “When they perished. So he went off to war, and left the younger brother in the care of a powerful fairy. The brother was fascinated by the fairy, who was not only beautiful but also displayed a superior mind. She gave him what he wanted, control. When everything else in his life was out of his control, she gave a measure of it back to him.”

He sighed, rubbing his head ruefully with one great paw.

“In truth, he was blinded by his infatuation with her. She was never under his control. He told her his secrets and she used them for her own gain. She betrayed him to his enemies and very nearly succeeded in getting his older brother killed in the war.”

By now Molly realized that the old tales were true, and that Sherlock was the prince the tale spoke of. She tried to interrupt but he plowed on.

“When her plan failed, she demanded that he wed with her, so that when his older brother was killed in the war, which seemed inevitable, that she would ascend the throne to become queen. He refused. So she cursed him, cursed him to become an animal by day and that no one should see his true form.”

He paused and sighed heavily.

“The consequences for the one to see him were to be death at her hands while he watched.” Both his and Molly’s eyes were filled with tears when he finished.

“Surely there’s a way-” Molly began, but Sherlock shook his head.

“No, Molly. The only way to kill a fairy is to stab them with a magical object or to have a greater power than theirs. Only then can you overpower one and end them. She’s the strongest of the fairies left as far as I know. Definitely stronger than any left at my brother’s side.”

“Well can’t he-”

“No. He wasn’t interested in the magics when we were younger. His head was only for books and politics. I was the one mother taught.” He shook his head again. “But she couldn’t teach me enough before she, well before, and even if she could have, I’m only half fairy folk, I could never overpower Irene.”

“Irene? That’s her name?” Molly asked, feeling sick to her stomach from all the revelations. She could see her dreams breaking before her, shattered glass lying there, the pieces too small to gather.

“Yes. Well, to humans that’s her name. Fairy folk have names that we can’t pronounce or understand so they choose a human name to take as well.”

“So what do we do?” Molly straightened, holding her head high, blinking through the tears. She was prepared to do anything and everything to protect them, even if only Sherlock was left alive.

“Molly, I can’t let you die. I won’t. You taught me what it means to care about someone more than I care about myself. You pulled me out of my misery and gave me purpose and hope, if only for a while. You made me love.”

“Sherlock,” Molly reached for him, before seeming to finally understand what was happening. Her eyes widened with something akin to panic. As she moved to step out of the circle, Sherlock had already begun reciting the words that would send her far from the grasp of Irene’s curse and leave only himself to be punished. He faltered on the last word and looked up at her, reaching out for him, palms blackened with his shame. Brown eyes met golden ones and then, she was gone.

\-------------------------

“Well, well… what have we here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever and a day. I've been dealing with a lot of personal issues lately and haven't had much time to write at all. Oh, and ff.net is being a butt so if you normally read this there and wonder why it isn't uploaded, blame the website.


	21. Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta on this chapter so sorry for any mistakes.

Mycroft Holmes was drawn from his tent by shouts from the men outside. He stepped from the well-appointed living space and looked to just a couple tents down from him where the shouting was concentrated. His hand reached for a well-worn, spell anointed sword, but a sight caused him to pause, his blue eyes widening in astonishment. A flash of bright light, swiftly followed by more of the same, appeared, slowly moving up the row of general’s tents to stop in front of him. The light steadied and grew in brilliance until he had to cover his face with an arm to keep from being blinded.

Suddenly, the light disappeared, and Mycroft lowered his arm cautiously, hand on the hilt of his sword. He dropped it however as soon as he saw the girl standing before him. Or rather, she WAS standing, but soon fell to the ground in a heap, her body drained from the magic used to send her to Mycroft’s side. He quickly directed some men to pick her up and have her settled on his own bed, a healer at her side to administer healing spells until she awoke.

Mycroft sat by himself, pipe in his hand as he watched the healer work through a veil of material which hid him from sight. It wasn’t that Sherlock couldn’t care, it was that he cared too much, and Mycroft had always known that. Now, he feared it would be his brother’s undoing.

\--------------------------

“Hello Sherlock, it’s been so long.”

“Not long enough Irene.”

“Oh, still so touchy. Surely you haven’t been holding a grudge. That isn’t good for the soul, you know.”

The stunningly beautiful woman in front of Sherlock smiled, showing dazzling white teeth, though the sentiment didn’t reach her eyes, which remained an icy blue, untouched by mirth.

Sherlock swallowed hard, his eyes darting about for the escape he knew wasn’t there.

“Now then, a little birdy told me that you’ve been a naughty boy. Consorting with a mere human girl, and not even a wealthy countess at that. A poor little human girl. Why is that, precious?”

Sherlock shuddered at the term of endearment and dropped his eyes to the ground, awaiting the soul-searing punishment he knew would come the moment that Irene realized Molly wasn’t there anymore

“Why isn’t she here with you, precious? It’s rude to refuse to attend guests, is it not? Or, am I wrong, and you didn’t mean to make her the Mistress of the Kingdom? The Princess, if you will? She _did_ see your transformation, did she not?”

There was a beat of silence, broken by her angry snarling.

“ANSWER ME.”

Sherlock jumped.

“Yes, she saw me. Yes, if it was safe for me to do so, I would make her my mistress, my wife, Princess of the Realm.”

“If it were safe… Where is this child now?”

Sherlock stood silently, awaiting her conclusions.

“Sherlock, dear, don’t tell me you’ve been so foolish as to try to keep her from me. You wouldn’t be so foolish as to hide her from me, would me?”

Sherlock straightened, satisfied that Irene hadn’t been able to sense the spell and so wouldn’t be able to trace Molly’s path.

“I’ve sent her away. Not even I know where she’s gone, but the spell is designed to take her to the safest place in the known world. She’s out of your reach, Witch. You’ll never have her.”

Irene’s fury was terrifying to behold. She drew herself up, pulling her staff to her, and trembled with barely leashed power. A sudden explosion from her threw Sherlock onto his back on the floor, as shadowy demons flew from Irene’s fingertips, racing through the castle, searching, testing, looking for Molly. Irene clenched her jaw, her eyes fiery as one by one they came back to her, screaming as they melded back into her skin.

“I see. Well then pet, what _shall_ I do with you?”

\---------------------------

“She’ll be waking soon, sire.”

“Yes, thank you Martha.”

Mycroft smiled at Mrs. Hudson as she brought him a cup of tea. She’d arrived just after Molly had appeared and had almost constantly been by the young girl’s side, alternately clucking over her like a mother hen, and silently sitting, tears streaming from her eyes as she mourned Sherlock. Mycroft’s stomach tightened. There was no way he could reach his brother in time to stop Irene, and even if he could, only someone with immense magical power could end the fairy. He stood and entered the room with a sleeping Molly.

It seemed all was lost.

And then he saw her blackened palm and hope filled his heart.

\---------------------------

“BRING ME ALL THE BOOKS WE HAVE ON OLD MAGIC!” Mycroft roared, sticking his head out of his tents to startle two young soldiers passing by. They saluted and scurried off to find said tomes.

Ten minutes later, Mycroft was slipping through pages, his tea and pipe discarded in his rush.

Three hours after that, he triumphantly help a large book aloft, just as Molly opened her eyes and took a sudden, deep breath. She sat up and he rushed to her side, still holding the book.

“Let me see your palms,” he demanded, and she held them out, too numb to ask why or even cry for her lost love. “Look, look here!” he nearly shouted, pointing to a diagram in the book and Molly gaped as she read.

**The blackened palm is rare, only known to have occurred on two occasions in history. The condition occurs when a non-magical being has direct contact with a magical creature at the exact moment of full power discharge from the body. The initial contact is painful, described as a burning sensation, and then the color forms across the palm. The bearer then is endowed with all the power of the creature, or in the case of a cursed being, that of the one who bestowed the curse.**

“You mean that the power in his transformation flowed into me?” Molly asked, in disbelief.

“Yes, yes! Of course, you’ll have to be trained to use it but you well could be the most powerful magical being in existence at this moment in time. Just as powerful as Irene. But since you can’t use your power well yet, you’ll need a magical item to kill her with.”

\-----------------------

“Oh look, you kept my necklace. I’ve been looking for this.” Irene took the gaudy piece of jewelry from the clawed foot of her raven, which settled on her shoulder. She held the largest jewel in her palm and smiled into it, seeing her own face looking back at her. “Wouldn’t do to lose this again,” she said, placing the chain back into the foot of the raven, who flew to the bannister and perched there, cawing at Sherlock.

“Now, precious, since you have been a bad boy and sent away your little consort, I’ll just have to give you her punishment, now won’t I?”

\---------------------------

“Here, this was my mother’s before… well before. It’s fused with magical spells, the strongest that the mages had to offer. It should, well it should serve its purpose. With your magic backing that of the spells, you just might be strong enough to overpower Irene. If things go south though…”

“I’m not leaving him again, Mycroft,” Molly said, squaring her shoulders. “You send me back there and I’ll kill Irene or die trying.”

Mycroft stared at her curiously. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

She smiled ruefully. “You’re just now understanding that? I’d die for Sherlock.”

“That’s good because if you aren’t careful, you will.”

“Yeah thanks for that,” she replied, following him out of the tent and into the field below the tents, along with several of the Imperial Mages. More were down in the field already, creating another circle, much like the one Sherlock had drawn for her, what felt like ages ago.

“And this will work, right?” she asked nervously.

“I don’t know why Sherlock sent you to me, Molly, or even if he meant to. But whether he did or not, the fates are with us and there are no coincidences. We will send you back to him but what happens after is entirely on you. I believe in you though. There is a certain strength about you. I can finally see what my brother sees in you. I believe you can defeat her.”

Molly nodded once and stepped to the center of the circle, closing her eyes as the blinding light rose around her.


	22. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, at the end of all things. No actually, it's just the end of this fic. Anyway, thanks for coming on the journey with me and I'm sorry I've kept you waiting so long! Enjoy!
> 
> As always, a huge thanks to my lovely beta allthebellsinvenice for the endless help! I love you!

Sherlock moaned as the pain of his forced transformation wrecked his senses. Irene stood over him, smiling coldly as he whimpered, coming back to himself in his human form, blinking owlishly in the light of day for the first time in years.

“Now, why don’t you tell me where she is? Surely you don’t want to take her punishment for her. You know what it will be, don’t you? You know the pain that awaits whoever kindles my wrath.”

Sherlock raised his head, unable to stand but unwilling to cower at her feet.

“I don’t know and even if I did, I would never tell you where my love has gone.”

Irene went perfectly still and glared down at him with icy eyes.

“Your what?”

Sherlock swallowed thickly but answered her with a strong voice.

“My love. I love her and will not see her harmed.”

Irene took a step back and raised her hands, a smile still frozen on her beautiful face.

“Well then, let’s see how long your love will last while I’m slowly burning you alive!”

Sherlock winced as the spell left Irene’s hand and burned itself into his body. He stubbornly kept his mouth shut, refusing to let the fairy see the pain he was in. The spell, one of the black magic, was ingeniously designed to burn a mark into his flesh. In essence, Irene was branding him as hers. He clenched his jaw as more of the spells flew through the air, landing on his body and beginning their job of burning into his body. One hit the area above his heart and Sherlock screamed aloud, the pain unbearable. His nails scrabbled at the place as he vainly attempted to remove the marks that would mar his skin until he died.

Which might not be that far off, he thought ruefully as Irene’s demeanor grew more and more agitated.

“Take it back, Sherlock! Take it back or so help me I will kill you now and leave your princely body lying on the ground for the wolves. The birds will pick at your bones! Take it back NOW!”

Sherlock screamed again as another spell found its mark, searing him.

“No! I won’t! I love her and I won’t ever stop loving her! You’ve lost!”

He roared as a particularly vicious spell hit his cheek, burning his face with its magical heat. He closed his eyes against the pain and waited. Suddenly, all was quiet and a growing light shone behind his lids. He assumed that Irene was gathering her power for the final kill and pictured Molly, wanting her to be the last thing he saw before death.

But no pain came, no more burning of his flesh. Instead, an enraged cry from Irene and a blindingly white light. Sherlock covered his face instinctively as he opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the brilliance. And there, standing in the glow, was Molly.

\--------------------------

Molly glanced to Sherlock, furious as she saw that he was whimpering from pain and that angry red and black burns dotted his beautiful ivory skin.

She raised her sword and took a defensive stance as the fairy whirled to face her.

“Leave him alone!” she shouted, walking herself around to stand in front of Sherlock.

“Well, well, the idiot girl appears,” Irene sneered, hands on her hips. “This… _thing_ … is what you so vainly tried to protect?” she mocked Sherlock.

“Molly,” Sherlock whispered, as if afraid his voice would crack if he spoke any louder. “Molly how…?”

“Mycroft sent me,” Molly said, loud enough for both Sherlock and Irene to hear. “He sent me back to end you,” she said, pointing her sword at Irene. She wasn’t nearly as confident as she tried to appear, suddenly terrified that she was facing down probably the most powerful being in the known world at that time.

“Oh did he? Well after I dispose of you and your _prince_ , I’ll pay Mycroft a visit and end his wretched life for thinking he could so easily be rid of me.”

Molly took up a defensive stance again as Irene’s hands began to glow with spells. As they left her hands and flew towards Molly, Sherlock tried to get around her to protect her but she took a step forward and parried as Mycroft had shown her, the spells flying off the blade to embed themselves in the wall, burning marks into the stone. She swallowed hard as Irene growled in fury.

“I see you have an enchanted blade,” she said, calming enough to smile balefully at Molly. “Mycroft should know that even the strongest blade will break under the power of my spells.”

She sent more flying through the air and Molly had to take a step back under the force of them. One ricocheted into the window, shattering the glass. The falling glass made Molly move from her defensive stance and Irene swatted the sword from her hands, rending it in two white hot pieces. Molly gasped and leapt after it, heedless of the shards of glass piercing her body as she dove for a piece of the sword. Irene hit her with a spell as she grasped a piece of the sword and Molly was temporarily blinded, sound and vision gone for a moment, then coming back slowly, everything fuzzy.

“… and now that she’s dead, you’ll pay for her arrogance and your brother’s! I’m going to end your line once and for all!” Irene shouted, standing over Sherlock who was once again screaming in pain.

Molly staggered up to her knees, her head feeling heavy. The sword was far from her and she spied a large shard of glass just to her side. She picked it up and gripped it, ignoring the shooting pain up her arm as it cut into her hand. She slowly stood, swaying on her feet like the drunkards in the tavern in town. She crept up to Irene from behind and just as the fairy raised her arms to deliver the final blow to Sherlock, Molly spoke.

“You should never turn your back on an enemy,” she said, ducking as Irene whirled around. She popped back up and drove the shard into Irene’s chest, just above her heart. The fairy screamed, a deafening screech as she turned black as coals and seemed to burn from the inside out, a fitting end for her treachery. Her body collapsed to the ground and she dissipated into ash as Molly’s feet.

Molly dropped the glass, ignoring the blood dripping from her hand and fell next to Sherlock, running her hands over his body, heedless of the smearing.

“Sherlock, Sherlock!” she cried, pulling him closer to her. “Sherlock say something, please!”

“Molly…” he whispered, blinking owlishly at her. “How did you…?”

Molly held up her black hands. “You did it, not me. You gave me the way to be rid of her.”

“No Molly, YOU did it. Your love made all this possible,” Sherlock said, his breathing labored. Suddenly, he gasped, and gritted his teeth as each of the marks where the spells at burnt him began to glimmer. Molly watched, wide-eyed as Sherlock’s whole body began to glow. She looked around and the whole castle was aglow, everything righting itself, from the window replacing itself to the room lighting up. Even Molly's wounds healed. Sherlock too was being set to rights, the marks fading away and his face smoothing, the lines of worry and fear disappearing. He set back down on his feet, grabbing Molly in a fierce embrace.

“Molly, oh my love, Molly I love you, I love you,” he repeated over and over, clinging to her.

“I love you too,” she soothed, “I do, I love you.”

He let her go, only to catch her hand as he looked around them.

“The castle,” he breathed. “It’s like it was when I was a boy.”

The whole place was filled with light and a palpable joy. Sherlock laughed, a carefree sound, and caught her up in his embrace again, kissing her passionately.

“Molly, will you, will you stay with me? I won’t force you, if you want to go home, but please, stay with me?” he asked, his eyes pleading with her. Molly chuckled.

“You know I will,” she replied.

“You’ll be Mistress of the Castle,” he laughed, catching her up to twirl her around. “You’ll be Princess of the Realm! My love, my wife, my love.” He kissed her again and she smiled, twirling one of his curls between her fingers.

“And you’ll forever be my Prince.”


End file.
